


Memory

by ayesakara



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, F/M, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 04:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5078407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayesakara/pseuds/ayesakara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if the Rumaran virus meant to erase Kellin's memories from every mind on Voyager wasn't as effective as we'd thought at first? Takes cues from the Season 4 episode Unforgettable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for The Bowl's First Kiss contest. Major thanks to Sorcha for her invaluable suggestions and betaing. Also  
> thanks to Kristin for her encouragement without which I could never have been able to finish this. :)

**Memory, Chapter 1**

 

 

They say memory is the purveyor of reason.

It is the vessel that holds our sanity within its arrayed sequenced divisions. We creatures of habit are creatures gifted with memory and endowed with a thinking mind---one that retains knowledge of the past we’ve experienced, hoping to keep it safe and secure within its secret folds.

But my reason is lost. There’s a fissure in my thoughts, a yawning gap that threatens to envelop me into its needless, incomprehensible vacuity.

What happened to me? I ask the face reflecting back at me from the near-transparent sheen of my office’s viewport. The face frowns, the dark brows furrowing in deep thought, and I hear a long sound escape from the back of my throat---a staggering sigh, lined with weary desolation.

What’s wrong with me? I squeeze my eyes shut a moment and then open them once more, sighing again. Oh gods, I don’t know. I wouldn’t have known anything but the emptiness inside that crosses the threshold of mind and memory and slinks down to the depths of my soul---leaving me restless---if it hadn’t been for the letter.

Four pages of replicated even-lined writing paper. A strange handwritten account of events otherwise unrecorded addressed to me. Addressed *by* me.

I don’t know what made me look for the clean pair of uniform boots in the last drawer of my bedroom’s wardrobe. After all a pair of boots can’t really fit in a drawer, can they?

But there I was, running late for the Rumbari reception which was to be held planet-side in a little under forty minutes, dressed in my Starfleet issue dress shirt and pants, when I realized my clean boots were nowhere to be found. In a manner of minutes my room looked like a cyclone had hit it. Let it be officially noted down that a person as meticulous as I’ve become in my years on Voyager surely knows how to devastate any semblance of neatness in life when the time calls for it. It usually occurs during these rare panic-stricken search raids for little lost personal items. And sure enough, despite the upheaval I caused, I couldn’t find the damn boots no matter where I looked.

And it was while I was rummaging through the lower cabinets---hunting for the said boots to no avail---that I pulled open the last drawer of the closet and saw the stack of papers lying there.

The steel covered stout writing pen sat on top of the stack in quiet declaration, the first few words staring up at me in their bold uncial letter writing in a sort of peerless challenge.

/READ THIS,/ The heading said. /AND TRUST YOUR HEART./

I remember frowning at the words at first as if they were no more than an unwanted distraction, for which I really had no time of course. But then, as always, curiosity got the better of me. I picked up the stack of papers and began to read.

And forgot all about the boots.

I remember still sitting in front of the wardrobe in the same half crouch, still reading the account, virtually lost to the universe, when Kathryn commed me twenty-five minutes later. She was asking why I wasn’t in transporter room two with her, getting ready to beam down to the surface with the Voyager entourage. If it hadn’t been for that call, I probably would’ve missed the reception.

I don’t remember much of the Rumbari gathering either. All I know is that I had to wear the same old boots I had worn during the alpha shift that day after all. And that we secured the trade agreement with our gracious hosts. With or without my help.

Most likely without, though, since my mind was too distracted to be of much help to Kathryn and Tuvok during the trade talks.

My thoughts confused. My reason lost.

The computer beeps a warning and shaken out of my thoughts, I turn to the chronometer. It’s gone past the usual lunchtime now and would be safer for me to go have lunch peacefully since the alpha crowd must’ve gone back on shift by this time. I realize I’ve wasted another morning session on idle, pointless brooding---ignoring the stack of padds lying on my desk that has been steadily growing ever since we left Rumbari space a week ago; brooding that will get me nowhere, of course.

After all there’s no official, concrete way to verify my handwritten memoirs, is there?

I slowly make my way to the messhall, answering the respectful greetings of the few crewmembers I meet on the way. Neelix is clearing up the place and there are only a few people left in the messhall now, but I know he has kept lunch for me and others like me who are here for a late lunch.

I am not a recluse by nature. I don’t really mind crowds and my job as the XO means interacting with my people on a daily, sometimes hourly, basis is part of the deal. But the events of the last few days have left me unsettled; the need to be left alone and undisturbed consistently pressing down on me with a quiet resolution.

"Commander," Neelix beams happily as he sees me. "You must try the Spicy Silkari Brown Rice I’ve prepared today. The accompanying Fujakan Potato Sauce makes it a most delightful combination."

"Thank you, Neelix, I’d love that." I smile back at him, dreading the worst. Spicy and Neelix can often be a deadly combination. But his enthusiasm is contagious and I find myself warming up to his chatter as he ladles spoonfuls of the green potato sauce on top of the rice. The smell is surprisingly quite favorable, and I tell him so.

"Trust me Commander," He leans in close, almost conspiratorially. "It’s been a hit with the vegetarians on board. Commander Tuvok even took three servings and everyone knows he never takes more than two. The original recipe for the sauce called for carrots, but I now know how much you dislike them."

I contemplate the tray in my hand, not sure if the Tuvok reference scores any favorable points for Neelix’s latest culinary creation. And then it hits me like déjà vu’. Carrots. Not many people know I hate carrots. Of course Neelix is one of the few who have finally figured it out, which is a good thing since he is the cook. But, who else? My thoughts whirl inside my head. Did I tell someone about the carrots? Who did I tell?

Did I tell *her*?

I come out of my musing as Neelix waves his hand in front of me. "Commander, are you all right?" His voice sounds a little panicked, and I wonder how long I’d been standing there---lost in my thoughts.

I blink and stare at the Talaxian for a second, noting his eyes have widened with concern. Then I take a deep breath and shrug. "Sure, Neelix. I am fine."

I take my tray to a corner table and settle down. I know Neelix is still looking at me, standing at his counter, so I make a display of scooping up a generous spoonful of rice and sauce and take it inside my mouth. As I chew I realize the flavor really isn’t half-bad and the genuine smile of thanks I send the Talaxian’s way apparently satisfies him and he smiles gratefully before going back to work.

But the tasteful food isn’t enough to keep my mind focused on it for too long. My thoughts soon return to the object of my discontent. The letter.

Her name was Kellin. She was Rumaran, a beautiful woman as per my written notes, belonging to a world that didn’t appreciate anyone leaving the bounds of their closed society. According to the accounts, she was a ‘Tracer’, a bounty hunter given the job of tracking down people who attempted to leave their world. She had come to Voyager looking for a runaway hiding here and my letter says...

I pause and stare down at my plate. My letter says she and I... fell in *love*. With each other. Not once, but twice. I shake my head and frown at the rice. It supposedly had something to do with the biological characteristics of Rumarans, which ensured that the memories of her people couldn’t be held in the minds of other races. They can only be remembered for a few hours...and then the memories fade away.

I sense a sudden rush of maddening hilarity bubbling up inside me, a somewhat familiar feeling that I’ve felt every time I went over this part of the account over the past one week, and if the whole situation weren’t so damn pathetic I would’ve certainly burst out laughing. I stop myself in time, though, and the only residue of my restrained madness is a further gritting of my teeth as I let the fork held in my hand slip from my fingers. The utensil clatters noisily on the replicated china and I close my eyes again.

Gods, I don’t want to make some absurd XO-gone-insane scene in public. This has to stop. I am the First Officer here. Can’t have the second-in-commands chasing ghost lovers in the remnants of their brain’s tampered memory pathways, now, can we? But spirits, my heart...

I sigh, my eyes still closed, and rub my weary face with the heels of my hands. If it’s all really so unreal, if it’s all nothing but a foregone maniacal absurdity, then why the hell does my heart feel so empty inside? There’s no record of her being here, the computer virus mentioned in my account explains that, yes, but then why do I feel like I’ve lost something important, something real, something that was truly beautiful to me?

Was this why I’d been feeling so subdued in the last few weeks? Could my heart have known I’d lost someone I’d loved even if my mind couldn’t acknowledge it?

Gods, why *did* I leave myself this account? What was I thinking when I wrote this? Wouldn’t it have been infinitely better if I’d stayed quiet, if I’d let this get lost along with everything else that was supposedly lost after she left? Spirits, I don’t even remember what she looked like.

All of a sudden I get the feeling of being watched. Startled, my eyes fly open and I quickly, furtively, scan the room for whoever has caught the whiff of my restrained madness. My eyes lock with the clear blues of my interloper’s. It’s Seven. I inwardly groan as I realize my madness isn’t that restrained after all, as I return her curious, direct gaze with as much efficacy as I can.

I really don’t think I have the patience to answer any of her inquisitive queries. What has she noticed anyway? How long has she been watching me? I feel a slight flush heat the skin of my face as I contemplate breaking the eye contact and looking away from her...

When she breaks it herself. And something quite exotic, something I’d never seen on her face before, an alien blend of uncharacteristic abashment intermingled with characteristic Borg indignation perhaps, crosses her features and she looks down at her own meal.

I blink at the strange display. Seven of Nine embarrassed? My brows furrow. Of what? Have I stepped into an alternate universe? What did that look on her face mean?

I look down at the now cold rice and realize my appetite is lost. I have to get the hell out of here, my heart and brain tell me in unison. I stand up, pick up my half-eaten meal and take the tray to the recycler. I ignore Neelix’s outraged protests as I empty the plate into the apparatus, set the serving dishes on the counter, and walk out of the messhall.

For a moment, I feel myself shiver as the heat of her gaze lingers on my back. And then the messhall doors close behind me.

 

 

The star-chart on the Astrometrics screen shifts under my new commands and we see a fresh trajectory replace the old display.

"The three planet system you see on the top left corner is the closest on our current course." I say. "We’ll have to divert the route for four light-years in order to reach it."

"How long would it take on our current speed?" Captain Janeway asks.

I quickly compute the distance. "Approximately eighty-four hours."

"And according to your data, they’re all uninhabited?" She looks at me closely.

"The Borg didn’t find any civilizations or technology worthy of assimilation in this entire region." I turn to her. "According to my data, only lower life forms and vegetation prevail in that system."

"All the more reason for us to go exploring." She gives a rueful smile. "Neelix has been eager to restock his food stores, and B’Elanna would love to look up any mineral deposits that might be useful."

She pats me encouragingly on my shoulder as she turns to leave. "Keep running scans and let me know if something new comes up."

"Yes, Captain." I nod as I turn to face the screen again, my fingers moving on the console in front of me.

I hear the doors open as she steps through the doorsill and then for some reason, she pauses at the threshold. I turn my head to look back at her.

"I’ll ask Commander Chakotay to prepare a schedule for away team rotations." Her eyes are on the star-chart on the screen, not me, her quick mind undoubtedly working ahead of schedule as usual, already planning and allocating tasks in her head. "If the scans show favorable results, we’ll need everyone working around the clock to alleviate the supplies shortage." Then she looks at me, smiles again, and walks out. The doors close behind her.

I stare at the closed doors for a moment, my thoughts in a complicated quandary, and then turn back to my console.

As I program the system to run continuous scans of the region along the trajectory we’ve decided to follow, my thoughts return to the perplexing situation of Voyager’s First Officer. My mind runs the scene observed earlier in the messhall over and over again but still comes up short when the need for a possible solution is acknowledged.

The commander is disturbed, that much is certain from my recent observations of his otherwise inconspicuous behavior. The display in the messhall today indicates an obvious increase in the factors that have been contributing to his distraction---factors which would perhaps be unknown to the others onboard. Which brings me to the uncertainty of how his other crewmates will interpret his anxiety-filled behavior in the absence of any known reasons. I am also uncertain as to what measures I can take to assist the Commander in relieving the stress he’s under.

After all, the circumstances affecting him are not completely unknown to me.

I wouldn’t have found out anything at all if Borg Alcove Beta, the Alcove I always use for my regeneration cycles in the cargo bay, hadn’t malfunctioned. When Lieutenant Torres ran a diagnostic on it, it turned out that the primary relays in the microcircuit sub-processor had gotten fused and the Alcove would be inoperative until they were replaced.

While the Lieutenant was certain she could get the problem resolved, she had as much inclination to spend her off-duty hours fixing my Alcove as I had to endure her scathing impatience. I allowed her to get Alcove Gamma operational, which hadn’t been used during the past one year, for my use that night and was immensely relieved when she left---her reluctance to spend too much off-duty time in my presence is another peculiarity I undoubtedly share with her.

As I stepped into the new Alcove, the programming in the Alcove itself as well as my own Borg physiology reset itself to match the new environment---as is the case every time a drone is reassigned to a new vessel or division. No data or information is wiped out in the process, only all the Borg implants and systems within my physiology are resynchronized so that they can match the new setting and the regeneration cycle can commence.

The beginning of each cycle is vague, filled with familiar faces and images that help center a Drone’s thoughts and memories---much like what human individuals would call the ‘dream state’. The onset of this state in a Drone’s case, though, is instantaneous---unlike humans who would take some time before they will fall asleep. Even though my link to the Collective has been severed for almost a year, my regeneration cycles bring me closer to my Borg half more than anything else I’ve ever experienced as an individual.

This time, however, my thoughts were filled with faces unknown to me. Unacquainted, alien, and yet still somehow strangely, inexplicably, familiar.

A smiling humanoid female. Her ears slanting upwards to a pointed peak, her hair light and her eyes a shade darker than mine. An individual I’d never met before. Or perhaps an individual I *thought* I’d never met before.

A face animated in conversation---*his* face, a strangely familiar flush coloring the darker hue of his skin further. The sound of laughter, theirs---the two of them sharing a carefree meal in a corner of the messhall, oblivious to their surroundings.

Another female, a human this time, her hair the same light brush of burning embers silkily framing her face, her large eyes expressing compassion---her face a familiar one, her words the same I’d heard thousands of times before in my dreams and in my nightmares: "Hear our voices. Open your mind to our thoughts. Feel the connection. Don’t be afraid. Our strength is your strength." His memories.

An old man leading me into a path inside a jungle, or perhaps leading *him*. A flash of lightening, or perhaps a discharge of powerful weapons fire, scorching the earth, the life, the old man in front of me---or perhaps in front of him---to glowing cinders. All life burnt to ashes in one vicious strike. The sounds of screams rising and reverberating inside my skull---his skull---and the jolt of pain freezing me---him---stealing my breath---his---making me fall to my knees, tears running down my face. His face. His pain.

His face again. This time alone at a corner of an Observation lounge, perhaps somewhere on Deck Five. Deep in thought, not noticing my arrival, his eyes dull with loss and hurt---his face quietly expressive in the solitude of his own company and in the absence of protocols that constantly reaffirm his own loneliness. *My* loneliness.

And then the sudden onslaught of silence---followed by a skin-tingling, throat-constricting plunging of utter darkness.

When I came out of my regeneration cycle that night, I found myself drenched in a light sheen of perspiration. The images were confusing but then again some of them were familiar too. It was obvious that the memories I had retained from my brief link to Commander Chakotay a year ago had been prevalent in this cycle, but what was I to make of the other unfamiliar faces?

Who was the first female I saw in my mind? Was she a remnant, a figment of some individual’s memory---maybe someone who had been assimilated by me in the past? Why did I see Commander Chakotay in those memories then? Was my flawed human brain fusing separate images and unmatchable memories together? Was this what Lieutenant Paris would call a haphazardly drawn ‘jigsaw puzzle’ that wouldn’t make sense no matter how hard we tried to piece it together?

As I checked, I realized a long time had passed since I’d initiated my cycle. I had completed much of my needed quota of regeneration, even if it had left me mentally unsettled---a human weakness no doubt---and now I had no desire to go back to it.

And that was exactly what I did.

I stayed away from the Alcove, even after Lieutenant Torres fixed the problem in Alcove Beta the next day. A week passed without regeneration because, to elucidate myself, I was a little uncertain how it would effect me again. The Doctor soon intervened with complaints of falling electrolyte levels, though, and I had no choice but to return to regeneration.

However, this time I kept my fears at bay, and my determination to find some answers foremost in my mind.

By the time my second regeneration cycle had ended, I had most of the puzzle resolved.

The answer lay within my Designator Interface Circuit. It is a small circuit located on the exterior of Drones and contains information on our numerical designation as well as information we have accumulated since being last connected with the Collective. Its one of the implants that the Doctor was unable to remove from my exoskeleton because attempting to do so would’ve resulted in the activation of a self-destruct program that would’ve vaporized me.

This circuit, being an external unit, stays disengaged during my normal regeneration cycles. Its function is to record a sequenced form of the data that already exists in my Neuro-Processor. The main and incidentally only implant that interacts with the Alcove during regeneration is the Interlink Node. But it seems that using the new Alcove, which resulted in the resetting of all my Borg systems, reintegrated that data---and thus the memories contained within---into my Neuro-Processor once again.

Now that the Rumaran virus no longer exists within Voyager’s computer, there is no concern for this data, and these memories, of being erased from my system again.

The one uncertainty that does confound me is the question of which individual on Voyager I should relay this revived information to. Or perhaps whether I should inform anyone at all.

That brings me back to the subject of Commander Chakotay. I am unsure what, if anything, he does remember from the events of our contact with Kellin and her people. There isn’t any record in the ship’s database. I have even discreetly run algorithms against his own personal files---the ones I could access, that is---as well, and have found no clues that he has any information recorded in his stored data files regarding the incidents. Unless, of course, he has employed some crude method of storing information that proved to be somewhat efficient for him.

Although I am not sure the stressful state he’s in right now is indicative of any actual efficiency in relevance to the method he may have used.

His replicator usage shows his nutritional consumption levels have dropped in the past one-week or so, and how well he’s taking his meals in the messhall became quite evident today. The increasing lines around his eyes can also only be explained by the fact that he’s not getting the physical rest, which the vigorous level of activity that comes with his position as the First Officer entails.

That leaves me unsettled for some inscrutable reason.

For someone to come and disrupt the equilibrium of a person’s life so close by---my own life---and then leave thinking they’ve left no traces behind. When in fact the opposite may be the truth---not just in my case, but *his* too. It’s so inexcusably... inefficient.

No wonder the Borg never assimilated any Rumarans, despite their superior stealth and weapons technology. I can’t imagine what the consequences of a Collective slowly losing its memory, in case one of them was liberated, would have been like. Even if it was only until their collective Borg Alcoves reset themselves.

Which, like the unending circle this plight has become, brings me back to Commander Chakotay again. Ascertaining from the reaction I got from him this afternoon, it doesn’t appear he is anymore comfortable in my presence than Lieutenant Torres is. Which would make sense since the two of them are close friends---her being one of the few people he socializes with on the ship other than the Captain.

Only, Lieutenant Torres doesn’t seem to be aware of the stress her friend is under. Nor is the Captain apparently aware of the anxiety Voyager’s First Officer seems to be going through at the moment.

I am uncertain as to what steps I should undertake.

The Borg part of me---the part closest to my thoughts and mind and the decision-making centers of my cerebrum during my nightly regeneration cycles---tells me to simply let it be. That time will heal his wounds and he’ll get over these needless inefficient emotional entanglements.

And yet the human part of me---the part that brings all those familiar images and individual memories alive when I close my eyes during the same regeneration cycles---feels my chest constricting with a strange, mysterious feeling.

The feeling of my human heart---aching in pain. For him.

******


	2. Chapter 2

**Memory, Chapter 2**

 

 

"Now that’s a sight for my sore aching eyes."

Tom Paris sighs happily in the pilot’s seat by my side, his eyes riveted to the main viewport in front of us.

I, sitting in the co-pilot seat of Davies, steal a look at his rapturous expression from the corner of my eye and shake my head knowingly.

The sense of marvel and excitement filling the Lieutenant’s eyes is one that I can share. As a fellow pilot, I understand that nothing can compare to the sheer excitement that comes with taking the helm at one of these small beautiful ships. The sheer exultation of flying into virtually unknown territory, the thrill of exploring, and the freedom that comes with it---it’s all an exquisitely privileged experience; one I am grateful to be a part of.

The easy familiarity that comes with this feeling almost makes me forget all my confusion and worries of the last few days, as if they’ve been blissfully left behind in a past life. As if they were all part of a bad dream, and should cause no more confusion than the slight disorientation which descends for a few dizzying moments upon waking up from one.

But things are never that simple and not everyone can be as easily impressed by the mere joy of gazing out a shuttlecraft’s viewport window, as us small-minded individuals can.

"You find a Type 3 asteroid field dense with severe gravitational disturbances leading to a planet’s stratosphere which is filled with heavy ionic activity---an appealing sight!" The slightly affronted observation comes from the science station behind us.

There’s a slight pause during which I can’t help but feel the corners of my mouth twitch at the incredulity in her tone of voice. She can’t help it, I know. I also know that she’s trying to understand Paris’s perspective, trying to dissect the data available to her as efficiently as possible. But its not going to work. She doesn’t have the correct frame of reference.

The Borg obviously never assimilated a sense of wonder.

As Paris rolls his eyes and comes back with a drawn out, drawled out rejoinder for our reluctant ex-Borg colleague, the feeling that I might be judging Seven a little too harshly in this instance pricks at my conscience.

After all, if I am to be completely honest with myself, she isn’t the same Borg Drone we liberated from the Collective a year ago. She has changed, is still changing, learning and picking up things along her decidedly laborious journey of discovering humanity for the first time in her adult life.

I always knew Seven---no matter how sure Kathryn was of her success---was going to be a difficult assignment for all of us. Always knew it was going to be hard, if not impossible, for the vulnerable young woman who was emerging from under all those Borg implants to fully embrace her humanity.

I never really expected her to change overnight.

I slightly tilt my seat sideways to glance back at her, as she answers Tom’s good-intentioned counters with her own, almost painfully precise responses, and silently berate myself for lying so blatantly to my own heart.

It’s not that I never expected her to change *overnight*.

The thing is I never expected her to change, period.

The fact that she *has* changed, that she *has* surpassed my obvious doubts, proved wrong my secret fears, and gone beyond any reluctant hopes that I may have held regarding her, has me thoroughly and truly confounded.

Seven of Nine is an enigma, she always has been, and even daring to attempt to seek out all her secrets, and to solve the puzzling contradictions within her personality feels to be a Herculean task indeed.

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Seven." Paris is still at it, patiently trying to convert her way of thinking even though she now seems to be adamantly, almost stubbornly, holding her ground. "Look at the asteroid belt, its absolutely *breathtaking*," he gushes "And the navigational challenge the gravitational pull, not to mention the ion storms in the atmosphere, will present our descent sequence---should be any capable pilot’s idea of a really, really fun ride."

I stoically keep my smile hidden from view.

He’s right about the challenge part at least. When Voyager had reached the system we’d laid a course for three days ago, our sensor readings had been a little chaotic, if not completely discouraging. The initial scans indicated that of the three planets, the only one that was M-Class also had thick blustering ion storms roaring in the lower atmosphere that made it nearly impossible for our sensors to penetrate the disturbance. Not to mention the fact that the same disturbance made transporters usage a no-option as well.

All we had been able to come up with were some hints and scraps of readings between the tiny fragmented windows that opened whenever the storm activity decreased: Oxygen-Nitrogen atmosphere. Some suggestions of water bodies large enough to be dubbed oceans perhaps present. Considerable doubts of any larger predators looming about. No traces of toxicity in the planet’s atmosphere.

As it dawned on us soon enough, if we wanted any more clues about what was down there, we’d have to take a shuttle down and explore. And that’s exactly, as the following briefing had decided, what we were about to do.

I turn to look back at my two partners and wait for the next rejoinder. It is brisk in coming.

"Beauty is irrelevant." Seven shoots back, her eyes cool.

I bite back a snort as the pilot throws up his arms in resignation.

"Fun is irrelevant," She marches on, unchallenged, "And the assumption that your flight’s descent down to the planet’s surface will be a worthwhile challenge at all weighs entirely on your *own* supposed ‘capability’ at the helm." She finishes, her single unhidden brow raised in a deliberate challenge.

"Seven, I am offended!" Tom’s mock-insulted outcry is almost drowned by the sound of Ensign Kim’s chuckle over our open comm-link from Voyager.

"Nice going, Tom." Harry’s grin is audible over the link.

"Glad to hear everything’s going just as normally as we expected, Commander." Kathryn’s amused voice comes over the comm.

"No need to worry, Captain. Everything’s going smoothly." I throw a crooked smile at Tom.

"Yeah, smooth for you, Commander." Tom huffs dramatically. "*You* didn’t just get your feelings trampled on, did you?"

"Relax, Lieutenant," I give him a bemused look and glance back at our Astrometrics Officer, strangely warming up to the banter between my crewmates---reluctant or not. "I am sure Seven didn’t mean anything by it."

"It seems Lieutenant Paris’s personal shields are malfunctioning." Her steel blue eyes are on the pilot, and what looks like cool amusement vying for its place next to smooth victory plays on her delicately sharp features. "I am afraid in their absence, the journey through the asteroid field to the surface below would be a formidable task for him."

As Tom concedes with a laugh, Seven’s eyes shift from his frame to settle on my face. Her eyes lock with mine and for one long moment, I am caught in the deep swirling blues of them. The direct gaze seems to be probing, their penetrating effect on me almost intrusive, as she apparently studies the contours of my face, her wandering look both intent and intense---the silent inspection leaving me quite unsettled.

And then, just as quickly as her eyes had begun their visual forays on my face, she breaks the contact as well. As if caught red-handed doing something unauthorized, a strange look of contrite uncertainty---the same abashment I’d first seen on her face three days back in the messhall---replaces her confident foraging of a moment ago, and she abruptly drops her gaze. As I stare at her crimson face, I realize I find her uncertainty even more unsettling than her haughty over-confidence; my brain puzzling over the mystery of her ivory-hued cheeks suddenly flushing with something akin to embarrassment, as her eyes turn away.

"Commander, let us know as soon as you have set up the subspace transceiver on the other side of the disturbance." The Captain’s over-the-comm voice breaks through the haze like a blast of phaser fire and I almost jump in my seat.

I swallow a couple of times to wet my suddenly dry mouth, as I turn back to my console.

"Affirmative, Captain." I look at my readings as Paris’s flying fingers prepare the shuttle for our entry into the thick asteroid belt. "Once we enter the stratosphere, forming a direct comm-link won’t be possible, but we’ll contact you as soon as we’ve set up the assembly."

"Understood," Janeway replies. "Its still impossible to get a clear picture of what’s down there from our sensors. Keep us posted when you can, Commander. See you soon."

"Will do so, Captain, and yes, we’ll see you soon." I assure her. "Chakotay out."

With the link to Voyager closed, I turn my full attention to the task at hand. I hear Seven relaying sensor readings to Paris’s and my stations concurrently and shift my mental gears to set my private observations of her behavior aside. That can come later. Right now, we have a stream of flying asteroids to navigate through.

Irrelevant or not, for a moment as we hurtle onwards to meet the skimming chunks of rock and the shimmering crystalline fragments glowing and flying in our path, we’re all transfixed by the sheer magnificence of the spectacle. It was impressive from afar, but at such close proximity as we are about to experience the entrance at full throttle, and with the asteroids screaming along their orbits like a racing traffic of high-speed fleet of ships, a collective surge of adrenaline spikes through our bodies.

"Okay, here we go." Tom swallows audibly, as he keeps one hand on thruster controls, slowing and controlling the shuttle’s speed, as he expertly guides the small craft into the field.

Slight tremors go through the vessel upon our entry, as Paris turns the shuttle this way and that, his fingers flying to dodge the bigger chunks, as I keep an eye on the navigational deflector---watching it force the micro-meteorites and other smaller debris away from our haphazardly shifting course. The gravitational pull is heavy indeed and we struggle to keep the shuttle’s trek through the asteroids smooth, but Tom’s legendary talent at the helm isn’t just mythical after all, as he valiantly skips past zipping hunks of rocks and planet debris strewn across our path.

As we reach the middle of the belt, the rush of asteroids zooming under and over and along the shuttle’s path becomes heavier, and the gravitational pull denser. The few sharper tremors felt inside tells us of the occasional chunks barely grazing past our defenses, the thickness of the pressure acutely felt as the vessel makes its way across the field.

"Shields holding," Seven confirms as I recheck the deflector readings, my eyes shifting from the viewport to the sensor readings, and back again. Everything checks out fine.

With a last heavy shudder that jolts through the shuttle’s frame, as we dodge a final cluster of asteroids along the edge of the belt---their one final bumpy farewell which Paris rides with his usual flying flair---we clear the belt and come through the other side of the spectacle.

"We’re through." Paris releases his breath and I feel myself relax incrementally in my seat.

"Good work, Tom." I nod at him.

"Thanks, Commander." He sighs gratefully.

"Five point seven seconds to enter planet’s atmosphere." Seven announces as my eyes fly back to rest on the sensor readings.

"Reading heavy ion storm formations in the lower stratosphere." I read from my console.

Tom’s fingers are once again moving on the console with lightening speed. "Distance from the surface twelve thousand kilometers."

"Temperatures rising to six thousand six hundred degrees." Seven reports.

There’s a jolt as our shields compensate for the varying temperature changes as we slide through the thick atmosphere. At the uppermost levels of a planet’s atmosphere, as you go through each distinctive layer, the temperature changes from kilometer to kilometer, and a lesser vessel might not be able endure the complexities as easily. But Davies is equipped with Borg-enhanced shields, which were designed especially for this mission by Seven and Harry, and a few shudders and jolts are all that we feel as we make our descent.

"Sensors detecting high concentration of ionized particles," Seven counts the numbers from her console. "Hull temperature dropping to two hundred degrees, region dense with a heavy concentration of chemicals in the atmosphere which are reacting with the solar energy coming from the system’s sun."

"All right folks, I’ve got the touchdown spot noted." Tom announces jubilantly. "This is gonna get a little bumpy before it gets better."

"But I am sure we couldn’t be in safer hands." I grin as my eyes linger on my readings. "Distance one fifty kilometers."

As we enter the troposphere, I watch as the silvery-white fog of the thick clouds swirling around the vessel suddenly replaces the blackness of the space.

"Air pressure rising to fifty kPa. Wind activity increasing." Seven intones.

"There we go, baby." Tom murmurs softly as he tames the thrusters under his adept hands, his voice gentle and low, as if he’s speaking to the vessel itself---and judging from the rapt expression on his face, he probably is. "I see the spot, lets take it nice and easy now."

"Eighty kPa." Another jolt as Seven speaks. "Temperature dropping to seventy degrees."

And suddenly, we watch as the clouds part to reveal a lush green terrain filled with trees and patches of water spattered across its surface. I gasp, feeling Paris too freeze next to me for a second, as the sheer beauty of the world is finally revealed to us.

"Thirty five degrees. Twenty. Pressure up to hundred and ten kPa." Even Seven sounds awed, her voice a little distracted.

Tom’s fingers guide the vessel down as all the shuddering and jolting finally ends and with a final smooth thump, barely felt, the shuttle lands on the clear patch of grass the pilot had already noted for touchdown from several hundred kilometers above.

He looks at Seven and me expectantly, and I smile at him, "That definitely was a 'fun ride', Lieutenant," getting up from my seat.

"A most ‘capable’ performance at the helm indeed." Seven rises from her console as well and her remark brings out a radiant smile on his face.

"Gee, thanks Seven, that almost makes up for you breaking my heart earlier."

I bend over the sensor readings once more. "Gravity 1.2 Earth normal, tropical weather conditions, temperature 40 degrees Celsius, plenty of water, fertile soil, dense vegetation and abundant mineral deposits." I turn to my crewmates and smile. "Neelix and B’Elanna will be damn happy. I think we’ve found the perfect place to stock up our draining supplies."

"Oh yeah, and no large life forms registering either." Tom jumps up from his chair. "If the weather clears up, we might even be able to get the Captain to approve a shore-leave schedule."

"One thing at a time, Tom." I shake my finger at him, not wanting to but still feeling the reluctant need to suppress his bubbling exuberance. "I don’t suppose I need to remind you why we’re here in the first place."

"Oh great, I know," Tom grimaces. "A day long happy expedition of collecting samples, mapping areas and taking readings of where and in what concentration the minerals are located, not to mention ‘which’, so that we can point out the perfect spots to begin excavation when the teams start arriving."

"Right."

"You’re no fun, Chakotay." He pulls a face and sighs. "Lets hope those vegetation patches provide for something better than Leola Root."

"In that case, I suggest we get out and begin our ‘exploring’." Seven announces as she moves to the aft of the shuttle and releases the hatch of the shuttle door. We follow each other out of the shuttle and walk into a miniature version of what looks to me like heaven in the delta quadrant.

The first thing to greet me is the clean, fresh, terrestrial air---thick with tropical humidity---filling my lungs. The lushness of the endless greenery around soothes my eyes, as I take in a long deep breath of the refreshing air. With the sweetness of the various scents permeating the air filling me, I scan my surroundings.

We’ve landed in the middle of a small basin, a grass-filled plain that is naturally formed in the shape of a slightly sunken few hundred meters wide oval, and is surrounded by groves of trees covering us on all sides. Low patches of greenery and stalks of grass cover the ground around us, which roll sedately as a soft breeze flows down from the upland.

My brows wrinkle at the thought that the trees around the plain obstruct our view of what lies beyond. Even as my spirits lift at the pleasant change of environment, I feel this clearing is a little isolated and gives a perception of being confined. In a strange alien environment, one must be aware of all the possible dangers involved---and for that one must know the terrain.

I flip open my tricorder as I make my way out into the grassland, walking in a small circle as I make an initial circuit of the perimeter around the shuttle.

"There’re rock formations about three hundred meters beyond these trees," Tom’s voice breaks into my haze, his eyes on his own tricorder. "Probably a mountain face of some sort, and scans indicates raw Deuterium deposits."

"I see them," I nod my head, without looking up from my readings. "Along with Titanium, Beryllium and scattered deposits of several Magnesium compounds. I also read thick vegetation that could prove promising in the edible department right up ahead, Lieutenant." I glance his way. "You up for a small sample collecting trek?"

"Sure, Commander." He shrugs.

We turn back to the shuttle, and Seven who’d been listening in to our conversation follows us inside.

"I’ll set up the Dual Subspace Transceiver so that we can make contact with Voyager." She says, taking out the paraphernalia B’Elanna and Harry had packed into the back of the shuttle. The idea was to have a transceiver on both sides of the disturbance---in our case the ion storms in the planet’s stratosphere---so that boosting a comm signal via radio connection, through the small cracks occasionally forming in the disturbance, could become easier to accomplish.

"Do you need a hand?" I ask her.

"No, I am certain I will be able to complete the task before you are back from your small ‘sample collecting trek’." She replies.

I let a hint of a smile show as I nod. "We’re not going very far. We’ll stay in a 300-meters perimeter around the shuttle and I insist we keep an open comm-link at all times. And better keep the shuttle hatch closed while you’re here. I don’t like the idea of leaving anyone alone for any period of time."

She stands back and takes out her phaser, and we watch as she changes the setting on the weapon with a flick of her thumb before putting it back in the pocket at her right hip. "My phaser is now set on heavy stun. Don’t come in unannounced."

Tom chuckles as we both get the message succinctly. The two of us go back to the aft of the shuttle and take out the containers and equipment we’ll need for collecting samples and specimens, and are soon on our way.

We’re in no actual hurry as there’s plenty of vegetation around in all directions to explore, and the initial scans have shown the potential this planet holds as far as needed minerals are concerned, so we make our trek a leisurely stroll up the grassland. Paris keeps up a continuous chatter by my side, commenting on every strange alien plant or rock or bush he sees, while I make mental notes of everything that comes into view.

We climb up the gracefully sloping incline that leads to the woods, step onto the platform, the grass lush under our feet, and pause, hovering at the threshold. The woods are thick, the trees bristly with leafy, blooming branches that almost bend to the ground with the lush weight of the strangely shaped fruits and leaves, giving them an exotic alien appearance.

I slowly turn around to look down the meadow at the shuttlecraft. She is standing peacefully in the middle of the grassland, and I note the vista behind her is a beautiful blend of color and vitality, the daylight peering down at the meadow through the thick clouds. I look up at the sky and surmise the time right now must be the season’s mid-afternoon, when it suddenly occurs to me that Paris has fallen silent next to me. I turn to look at him and find his head tilted to one side, a slight frown on his face.

"What?" I ask.

His head tilts further and his eyes squint as if focusing on something far, far away. "Do you hear that?" His eyes shift to me.

I feel my heart give an uncertain thud as I peer at his scowling face, and strain to listen to the mysterious sound he’s talking about.

"It’s like a strange droning..." His voice trails off as he looks off in the distance.

And then I hear it: an unending buzzing sound, a strangely continuous flat drone, that I’d probably mistaken for the normal rustling that is usually associated with forests. But now that I can isolate it in my head, I realize it’s actually quite different from any sound I’d hear in forests. An odd hissing murmur that is ever present, like an ominous distant droning of bees, humming about in earnest.

"I hear it too." I nod at Tom.

"Insects?" He states the obvious and I nod again.

"That’s what it sounds like... some kind of bees maybe."

He looks about in consternation. "But you can’t see anything."

I follow his gaze. He’s right. We haven’t seen any life forms so far; no crawling insects, no flies buzzing around, no fuzzy little critters scampering about. I look up at the sky. Not a bird in sight. We couldn’t even tell if there were supposed to be any birds in this world or not.

"But the initial scans proposed there were probably no *larger* animals registering, we should see some small ones." I look at my companion again and raise a brow when I see him fiddling with his phaser.

"Planning to shoot at bees with your phaser, Paris?" I grin at him.

"No, I had just forgotten to set it on high stun." He shoves it back in his pocket and then frowns at me. "How the hell *do* you escape from an attack from bees in a crunch anyway?"

I look down at the ground and see several pieces of fallen branches scattered ubiquitously, and scuff at a couple with the point of my boots. "Well, for starters you could build a makeshift torch by binding the bark of some trees to one end of this branch. Smoke tends to avert or distract an attack like that while you make your escape."

"Oh great," Paris gives me a funny look. "I’ve heard all about your fire-starting skills, Commander. You’ll probably get us all killed while you’re trying to start that fire."

I chuckle at him. "Well, if you don’t trust my survival skills, you can always find a body of water to jump into, Lieutenant. Bees don’t swim."

"Hey that’s a great idea." Tom smirks, as he starts to walk again. "Let’s go look for water to jump into in case we get attacked."

I shake my head at him, as we enter the forest. "You know what?" I ask him, my eyes again surveying our surroundings---the continuous strange drone somehow sounding thicker in the thickness of the woods.

"What?" He asks.

"If you don’t like either of those ideas, you can always take out the spray can with the title SE-IA from your backpack. The title stands for ‘Survival Equipment---Insects Attack’. It sprays a cloud of cool compressed gas that is specifically used for situations like that." I smile. "Its part of every survival kit and has proven to be very effective in tropical climates."

Paris glances at me, an incredulous expression on his face. "And I always wondered what the ‘IA’ stood for. I never had the need to use it on any of our survival skill hikes."

"Then consider yourself lucky." I smile as I open my tricorder again, beginning my scanning of the vegetation once more. My eyes linger on the pathway we’re on and look at the trees on both my sides.

"Look at this trail," I point to Paris. "It’s almost as if it is a usual one taken by an animal, judging from the worn out shrubs along its sides."

"Yeah," Tom bends down to look at the low-lying underbrush at our feet. "It looks a bit trampled."

I join him on the floor, picking at the leaves with a pair of pliers I’ve taken out from my pack. "Yes, but the degree of discoloration suggests the trampling must have happened quite a while back." I point the tricorder at the bush. "According to this, the decaying of the leaves occurred approximately seven weeks back. Since then, the plant has grown back but at a sedate rate perhaps."

"Maybe it’s just the season, the climate, maybe they just grow slow in this season." Tom suggests.

"Perhaps." I nod at him. "That sounds very plausible."

"That means there should be animals visible around, right?" He looks at me.

Before I can answer him, though, our combadges crackle into life.

"Janeway to away team."

I smile at the pilot as I answer the hail. "Chakotay here. Its good to hear your voice, Captain."

"Its good to hear your voice too." Kathryn responds. "We’ve been waiting on the edges of our seats to hear from you."

"Good work, Seven." I speak into the combadge, as both Tom and I get up from our crouch---suddenly realizing that I’d forgotten my own instructions of staying in constant touch with each other, so engrossed I was in the alien surroundings. "That surely was efficient work. Thanks."

"No need to thank me, Commander." Seven’s voice comes from behind us as we turn around to watch her coming into the foliage to join us. "I had as much ‘fun’ putting the transceiver together as evidently you and Lieutenant Paris had discussing probable methods of escape from bees attacks and ascertaining the decaying factor of dead vegetation."

Tom grins at her and then at me, as Kathryn’s husky chuckle comes over the comm-line.

"I can see you’re still having a good time with those two, Commander." She says.

"As always, Captain." I look closely at Seven, a small smile on my face, as she returns my gaze for a few seconds before looking around at her surroundings.

"All right, back to business." Kathryn says, her tone quickly shifting from playful to serious. "Now that the transceiver is working on the other side, we’re not only able to establish a communication link with you, but also our sensors are able to penetrate the disturbance now."

"That’s great." I answer. "What do you read?"

"In the western hemisphere, where you’ve landed, and which evidently is the only place our sensors can effectively work because of the booster signal originating from there---there is plenty of mineral deposits that we could use, and possible edible fruits and vegetables as well."

"Yes, our scans indicate we could harvest some of these vegetables for the food stores." I look at Tom who nods at me. Both our readings so far indicate the same.

"Perfect." Janeway replies. "Perhaps you can start collecting some samples while you’re exploring."

"We’re on it, Captain." I say.

"One more thing," Janeway says. "Our sensors picked up just one single type of native life form in your area."

My brows wrinkle as I look at Tom. "Just one type?"

"I noticed it as well." Seven speaks. "I checked the several bio-signatures of the life signs our sensors were detecting in this area, and they’re identical in all ways. There’s only one kind of life form in this perimeter at least."

"That is strange." I look from Seven back to Tom.

"But it’s a smaller life form, from what our sensors can detect." The Captain sounds slightly apprehensive.

"That is correct." Seven replies.

"Have you seen anything?" Janeway asks.

"No, but we believe we’ve heard something." Tom answers, looking at me.

"All right. Please report once you’ve surveyed a larger area, and if you find anything unusual." The Captain says. "Janeway out."

With the link from Voyager disconnected, I turn to my away team. "All right, let’s get to work, and stick close." I turn back to the trail Paris and I had been following earlier and am about to start walking when the pilot stops me.

"Commander, maybe we should take a round of this area in the shuttle," He says. "Look around the terrain, pick out the best spots for foraging or excavation or whatever."

"Maybe later," I shake my head. "Right now I want to keep doing what we’re doing. Spend a few hours on foot. There’s plenty of area we can check out that way."

"But if I take a short trip in the shuttle," Tom begins again. "I can figure out the surroundings of this area, while you guys explore on foot."

I turn to face him completely. "No." I tell him firmly. "I told you we won’t separate. We have no idea what lies beyond these trees."

"But we have already separated once." It’s Seven, who looks at me with her direct gaze, her one brow raised in a question. "You left me in the shuttle, while you and Lieutenant Paris came here to explore."

"But we hadn’t gone far away." I make an effort to keep my voice controlled, as I feel my patience suddenly running thin. Had to be my luck to be stuck with the two people who would always question my orders. "We could still see where the shuttle was. We were in direct comm-link. If anything had happened, we could always return to the shuttle. We *will* work together, all three of us. If there had been a fourth crewmember, I would’ve allowed us to break into groups of twos, but that is not an option right now."

"That is an inefficient way to work." Seven’s voice turns cold, her suddenly blazing eyes making me feel like a specimen in one of the EMH’s petri dishes. "If we break off in singles, we could get the work done faster."

"Inefficient or not, it is the *safest* way to work in an alien environment such as this." I grit my teeth and stare hard at her. "I can’t allow any of us to get separated, especially now that we know there is only one kind of life form prevalent in this environment, one that we haven’t the *slightest* idea what its like. And that’s an *order*. We *will* stay together. So that if anything goes wrong, we can help each other. Do you understand?"

There’s a long moment as the ex-Borg looks at me with strangely glistening eyes, her jaw set. And then she swallows and nods curtly. "Yes, Commander."

I turn to Tom. "Paris?"

"Yes, Sir." The pilot nods, a slightly repentant look on his face. He probably had no idea his suggestion would spiral out of control like this.

"Good." I nod at both of them, and then turn around. "This is where we were headed earlier. Let’s continue on our trail."

The three of us follow the trail, the air strangely thick with tension as I feel their silence hanging around me like a suffocating curtain of intractability. I am not sure whose obstinacy it is that I feel, though, theirs or mine?

The silence finally breaks as we come across a carcass of a small animal. I crouch down and study the bones closely. The state of the cadaver suggests the flesh was ripped apart right from the bones, no sign of skin or flesh remains on the carcass. I look at my tricorder readings and nod.

"The bone decay suggests it was killed around seven weeks back." I look up at my companions. "The same time as the trampled plants."

"Do you think this is our lone life form?" Tom looks at the corpse.

I shrug---a stray bleak thought coming to my mind, which I try to ignore as I get up.

"Or perhaps, it is the victim." Seven looks at the bones and then at me, as if she’s read my mind.

"I was afraid to say that." I look at her, sensing a change in her mood. Her eyes have lost their hard glint, and her mouth has softened as she looks down to the cadaver and back at my face. I look at Tom’s suddenly pale face and realize that after seeing this evidence, neither of them would want to be separated from the rest of the team.

I nod at them reassuringly. "Come on. Let’s start collecting samples."

We get to work. Harvesting edible fruits and vegetables isn’t that hard to do so when there’s so much variety around. Take a sample of the vegetable or fruit, put it in the test-kit, key in the code to assess the viability and to see whether its edible or not, and then if proven to be okay, put it in a separate labeled container. We did throw away quite a few samples because they were toxic, or as Tom said: "too close to Leola Root in appearance", but within two hours since we’d begun our harvesting, we’d collected a pretty good variety of fresh vegetables, fruits and seedlings.

The three of us take several trips back and forth from the shuttle to leave our harvested supplies in the aft portion, always staying together, and expand our surveying perimeter a few meters ahead every time we begin a new round. Finally, while following the same trail, we come across a second clearing that is very much like the one our shuttle has been parked in. This was where, as we realize, the mineral readings had come from.

In front of us are several hilly areas that we’d detected from the shuttle, along with a thin creek filled with sparkling clear water. With the tricorder, we assure the viability of the water---it’s drinkable---and take detailed readings of the places where the needed minerals can be detected and then, return to the edge of the woods again, going back to our vegetable hunting.

I find another set of bones next to a tree and hunker down to take more detailed readings. My brow wrinkles as I realize this carcass is different from the last one we’d seen---this one was a different species than the one we scanned before. I shake my head, my mind puzzling over this mystery. We’ve only seen cadavers and not a single living animal around so far. What could this mean? What happened on this world?

It’s while I am noting the scans giving information about the tissue degradation on the cadaver when I suddenly realize that the forest has gone absolutely still. I feel the tiny hairs at my nape stand up as a shiver goes through me at the realization that even that ever present strange droning has ended. Not a peep can be heard from anywhere around us. I look up at the sky and determine the time to be around late-afternoon---the light has gotten dimmer with the passage of time and with the cloud covering becoming thicker.

I look for my team and see Paris scraping away at a bush a short distance away, but find that Seven is nowhere to be seen. Alarmed, I get up from my crouch, my brows wrinkling at the thought that she may have disobeyed my orders and gone her own separate way and am about to hit my combadge when I hear a rustle behind me.

"Commander." I almost jump at Seven’s voice, startled by her sudden appearance.

"Seven!" The surprise in my voice is clear and the expression on her face changes to one of apology.

"Commander, I didn’t mean to startle you." She explains.

"That’s okay," I shake my head as I stand up straight. "You just took me a little by surprise. What did you want?"

She hesitates a moment before squaring her shoulders and looking straight into my eyes. "May I ask you to turn off your three-way comm-link for a private conversation?"

I stare at her face a moment, puzzled by her strange request. "Seven, if it has anything to do with your suggestion of breaking off into singles..."

"No. It has nothing to do with this mission." Seven interrupts me. "It’s a personal matter."

I stare at her a second, my mind puzzling over what she may have to say to me, and then look at Paris---only to find him looking at both of us from his bush several dozen meters away, obviously having heard our conversation up till now.

"Stay in sight, Tom." I instruct him and after getting his affirmative reply, I punch my badge to close the link. Seven does the same.

"I am all ears." I turn my attention to her.

She looks at me a little uncertainly, swallows and then looks down at the ground---obviously nervous about something. I am perplexed and a little doubtful of what she wants to say as well---I’ve never seen her so undecided before.

"Seven, what’s wrong?" I ask, feeling my brows furrow in concern. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," She begins, looking up at my face again, "I mean no, there is a matter of deep concern that has me somewhat conflicted." Her brows furrow and then once again, she squares her shoulders and straightens her spine. Her eyes lose their uncertain glint and she looks me straight in the eye, as if coming to a decision. "Perhaps, this might sound a little intrusive to you, Commander, but I’ve noticed your slight distraction over the last few days."

She pauses for a breath and within that second, a sudden infusion of bewildering, confusing thoughts floods my mind. What the hell is she talking about?

"Distraction?" My voice turns cooler.

"Yes," She continues on, not noticing my sudden aversion to this topic---*whatever* this topic is. "You’ve seemed a little subdued than your normal self. You’ve been avoiding crowds, interacting with less and less people, coming to the messhall for your meals when none of your friends are there..."

"With all due respect Seven," I interrupt her bluntly, feeling hot fury suddenly inundating my whole being at this forced infringement. "How I spend my off-duty hours shouldn’t be anyone’s concern but mine."

"You don’t understand," She stares at me hard. "I know about Kellin."

I know my mouth has fallen open at this revelation. I find myself unable to form a response as my mouth works for a few seconds in vain but no words come out.

"You *do* know about her." She looks at me closely, her eyes probing, the same feeling of being closely scrutinized by her that I’d felt in the shuttle once again overwhelming me. "You *did* keep some kind of record."

"How the hell do you know about that?" I finally find my voice. "There were no records in the ship’s database, how *can* you know that?" I growl at her, once again feeling like a specimen in that petri dish, so vulnerable this feeling of being needlessly exposed is.

She hesitates. "My Borg systems enabled me to keep a record of those memories."

I snap in impatience, suddenly turning from her and walking into the woods. "You’ve known all this time and you kept this to *yourself*? Why didn’t you make a report of your findings to the Captain or to *me*?"

The expression on her face changes to one of surprise, perhaps at my sudden explosion of anger, as she follows me into the grove. "Commander, I only found out ten days earlier. I didn’t make an actual connection with you until I realized your replicator usage for nutritional consumption had drastically fallen and then..."

"You’ve been keeping *tabs* on my replicator usage?" My voice rises in outrage. I can’t believe what I ever did to warrant such wanton meddling in my personal affairs. "What else have you been doing? Breaking into my private records, snooping behind my back at everything I *do*?"

I realize something is wrong with this whole scenario, that I am reading the situation completely wrong, the moment a look of something I thought I’d never see on Seven’s face passes through her sparkling blue eyes---genuine unadulterated pain.

"That's not how I'd intended it to be seen," she chokes out, her eyes suddenly dulling as she presses her lips together.

I don’t get a chance to think about her reaction, though.

Because suddenly the whole forest comes alive.

The buzzing sound, that insistent continuous droning, that had disappeared a while back, suddenly comes back in full force---only this time its much stronger, its intensity almost ferocious. Startled, I look around us, seeing the concern on Seven’s face as well, and start when I hear Tom’s shout.

"Commander."

I scramble out to the clearing, my ears ringing at the fierce noise, and see Tom running to our side, his face pale with what can only be described as fear.

"Chakotay, look at that." He turns and points to the horizon.

I stare at the spot in the sky where he’s pointing and feel my heart start to thud in trepidation. From the distance it looks like a dark cloud racing down to the forest, something alive, bustling, roiling with life.

The first thought that comes to me is that they’re a flock of birds, flying in a formation or something. And then I look up at the sky---the sound of ominous droning rising with every passing nanosecond and suddenly, I have made the connection.

"What the hell do you think they...?" Tom starts but I don’t let him finish. I push him towards the trees and turn to Seven and yell.

"Start *running*---to the *shuttle*."

"I left my equipment back at that site." Tom begins but I grab his arm and pull him into the woods.

"FORGET IT." I scream. "Now MOVE!"

They get the message as the swarming cloud of whatever the hell those creatures are dives down at the clearing and we dash into the woods, running for our lives, our phasers out in our hands, our feet stampeding through the trail as we weave our way through the trees.

The swarm follows us, hovering about the trees, their buzzing louder, somehow sounding different at this close proximity---almost like a snarling hiss that sends shivers down my spine. The distance to the shuttle is not that large, only four hundred meters or so, but running between the bristly thick trees while making sure we don’t fall down is difficult, and the swarm’s presence above is blocking the sunlight---making it difficult for us to see our way ahead.

Suddenly, one of the creatures dives inside the trees and I fire at it and miss, the phaser blast instead hitting a tall tree---and a branch breaks and falls behind us.

"Keep RUNNING." I yell at my companions, as the same creature changes directions and comes at us from the front. I aim my phaser at it and fire again, this time my blast joined in force by one from Tom’s weapon. Just before it explodes in the phaser beam, we get our first look of the creature---grisly ugly head, large compound eyes, veined wings, bristly antennae, sharp fangs---it’s almost like a huge foot-wide flying insect of some sort.

"Oh SHIT." Tom groans as the severity of the situation dawns on all of us. We’re in deep trouble. In the trees there’s at least a slight cover---though not real protection---but what will happen when we make our way to the shuttle under the clear sky? I bend down and grab a few thick branches from the ground, throwing one each at my companions as I shove mine into a hoop hanging loose from the trekking belt I’ve got around my waist, my feet never halting in their steady dash behind my crewmates.

More creatures dive, more phaser blasts are fired---all three of us firing in reckless abandon---as more branches burn and fall around us. Stumbling, rolling, staggering, we run almost blindly, barely keeping our feet on the trail, until finally, with our chests heaving with exertion, we’re out of the grove and under the open sky. The shuttle is visible from this point, standing in the middle of the meadow---the sky is darker above us, even without the swarm at our heels.

This time a drove of flies descends on us. Tom has taken the SE-IA can out of his pack and he uses both his weapons simultaneously---sending a fog of condensed gas up at the snarling beasts as well as the phaser blast pointed at one of the creatures. I watch two creatures fall to the ground as the three of us keep our steady stampede down the slope and into the grassland.

I suddenly feel myself stumble and stagger on the unsteady ground, barely catching my step, as I hear a gnarling hiss from right behind me. I turn around and aim at the fly diving for me, my other hand on the branch, ready to use whatever means I have at disposal to fight for my life as I fire. As the creature falls to the grass in front of me, I hear Tom’s painful scream from behind me. I turn around and watch aghast the horrifying sight of my pilot struggling with one creature that has grabbed him by its snapping jaws.

"Tom!" I yell as I fire at the fly attacking him and curse as I miss the aim. I run towards him, barely aware of the cover Seven is providing me as she fires at the swarm above us, the branch held in my hand like a sword. The huge fly’s fangs are closed around Tom’s nape, and with a blind rage, I shove at the ghastly beast with the end of my stick, its wings continuously in motion. Its jaws loose their grip and I fire at it at point blank range and watch as it shrivels into a burnt mass of melting flesh.

I grab Tom before he can fall to the ground, but his eyes are losing their focus, his body almost limp in my arms.

"COMMANDER." Seven yells. "We must MOVE."

"Tom, you’ve gotta WALK." I urge the pilot.

"I can’t..." He chokes, his breath coming short, as he blinks up at my face, "I can’t move, Chakotay."

I throw my arms under his shoulders and pull his feet up, straightening his body. "You have to TRY." I order. "I’ll HELP you."

I drag him towards the shuttle, now barely a hundred meters away, while Seven keeps up a steady stream of weapons fire at diving droves. But in a manner of seconds, it has become clear to me that whatever was in that fly’s bite has affected Tom’s mobility. He barely twitches as I lay him down on the ground, turning to fire my phaser at another attacking fly.

"Commander?" Seven looks at me in confusion.

"He can’t WALK." I tell her as I bend the pilot’s body at the waist, pulling his arms over my shoulders. "So I am gonna CARRY him." I hoist him up on my shoulders and with a grunt, stand up, feeling his dead weight along my limbs as I once again hustle my way towards the shuttle. My hands struggle as I strain to keep the pilot’s body balanced on my one shoulder and I realize I can’t use my phaser anymore so I throw it to Seven. "LEAD THE WAY." I nod at her.

She gets the message. From that point on, I have no idea how many creatures dove down and attacked us as we staggered towards the shuttle through the knee high grass. All I am aware of is the steady flow of phaser fire from the two weapons held in Seven’s hands as she aims with what must have been remarkable accuracy, because the attack of fangs on my neck or shoulder that I’d been dreading since the swarm first appeared never came.

Finally, we reach the shuttle and Seven briskly opens the hatch as I stagger inside with my weight. Just as soon as all of us are inside and the hatch is banged closed, we hear the sound of creatures slamming into the hull---the sound of their thudding against the titanium plating full of anger and hostility. I lay Tom down on the portable biobed that slides out of a wall in the aft section at the push of a button, as Seven brings out a tricorder and begins scanning him.

I hear her read out the diagnosis---unknown toxic substance has damaged the nerve tissue, resulting in partial to complete loss of the ability to use involuntary muscles---her voice strained with worry, as with shaking hands I establish a link with Voyager again.

"Chakotay, what is it?" Kathryn asks.

"We’re in trouble. Tom is hurt. We were attacked. Can you establish a transporter lock on him through the transceiver?"

There’s a pause as she checks the status with Harry. And then she replies. "Negative. The subspace signal is too weak for a transport attempt. What happened?"

"I have no time to explain. I am establishing a datalink through the transceiver. Please get the Doctor online, we’ll need his advice RIGHT AWAY."

"You’ve got it." Kathryn’s worried voice comes through.

I power the engine and bring the shields back online and with that, hear the furious thumping against our hull fizzle out. Then I go back to the biobed where Seven is working on Tom. His breathing is labored, his eyes closed. The tricorder scans tell us that his heart is closing, slowly losing its ability to beat because of the paralysis spreading. I watch as Seven places a small device on his forehead.

"A Neural Transducer." She explains. "It should transmit the nerve impulses it receives from his brain to the affected involuntary muscle groups."

I stare at our gasping helmsman, see his dwindling bio-readings on the tricorder, and realize he needs to be in the sickbay. Neither Seven nor I are trained to help him in the condition he’s in.

As the EMH comes online and starts speaking to Seven, I look at her and realize she’s no less affected by the situation than I am. Her brow is wrinkled with fear, her throat convulses as she swallows a knot of worry with much difficulty. My eyes fixed on her face, I hand her a hypo the EMH advises to be injected into Tom and place my hand on her wrist. "Work on Tom." I tell her as she looks into my eyes. "Listen to what the EMH says. I am gonna get us out of here right *now*."

With that I turn around and walk back to the helm, settling in the chair with a quiet determination.

I am not going to let Tom die. I won’t fail him, won’t fail Seven. Not when it was only supposed to be an innocent harvesting mission. I can’t afford to.

I fire the thrusters and the shuttlecraft lifts up, my eyes fixed on the readings. I hear the Doc announce that Tom desperately needs to be in the sickbay to be treated properly and I softly murmur under my breath.

"Hang on Paris. We’re on our way."

The ride back up the atmosphere isn’t laden with the same sense of awe we’d encountered on our way down. The rise and drops in the hull temperature doesn’t fill me with the sense of wonder I felt while Tom was at the helm. This time around, the only thing on my mind is that I have to get out of the disturbance as soon as possible, so that Tom can be transported to the sickbay. I take no notice of the jolts and shoves and jabs the shuttle experiences as we pass through the heavy ion activity in the stratosphere. I see the green blues of the damned world below us get replaced by the swirling nebulae of silver-white clouds and heave a strange sigh of relief.

The computer announces the sudden temperature drops and increases in its mechanical voice, as we rise through the atmospheric levels, and I only lend half an ear to them---my fingers constantly moving on my controls, my eyes firmly fixed on the viewport in front of me.

My attention strays back to the aft of the shuttle where Seven is still working on Tom, even as we break atmosphere and the blackness of space finally comes into full view.

"Voyager, can you get a lock on Tom now?" I growl into my combadge.

"Negative." Kathryn’s worried voice comes over the link. "Chakotay, the gravitational pull in the asteroid belt is interfering with the signal. You’ll have to..."

"Fine, we’re coming *through*." I announce, cutting her off in the middle, as my fingers fly on the console as if moving of their own accord. I steady the speed of entry as I plunge into the asteroid belt, not caring about anything but to get my crewmates home safely---in one piece.

There’s no finesse in this return voyage through the asteroid field. My eyes don’t linger on the flying chunks of rocks hurtling past our shields to admire their spectacular beauty but rather to think up ways to barely evade the wonders as best and as fast as possible. We get hit a few times, the jolts nearly dislodging me from my seat but I hang on with a strange, energizing sense of resolve.

Tom will probably make fun of my flying, but he’ll be amazed at my speed record.

"Shields down to seventy percent." I hear Seven’s voice behind me from the science station. I don’t ask her why she is sitting there and not standing at Tom’s side, my heart shrinking in fear at the thought of what her answer might be.

And at last, after what seems like an eternity, with one final lurch as we bump past the thick, streaming edge of the field, we’ve cleared the asteroid belt.

"Voyager?" I yell into the combadge.

"We’ve got a lock on him." Kathryn replies. "Energizing." And then after a moment, "We’ve got him. Good work, Chakotay. We’re coming over to meet your shuttle at mid-point."

I feel myself go limp with relief as I punch the auto-pilot on and turn to face Seven.

She’s sitting at the science station, her head bowed in abject misery, and my heart thuds at the picture of sheer helplessness she paints.

"Seven, how was he?" I ask her, trying to keep my voice calm.

She looks up and her fear-filled eyes meet mine. "Unconscious. Barely breathing. His heart was struggling. I injected him with the antidote and implanted the Neural Stimulator into his central nervous system."

"You did all you could." I tell her. "He’s going be all right."

She drops her eyes, her gaze fixed on a point somewhere on the floor. I watch as she swallows heavily. "If we’d done as I’d suggested, if we’d broken off in singles, when the creatures attacked, all of us would’ve been defenseless."

I frown at her. "But we didn’t."

"If I’d persuaded you to let Lieutenant Paris take the shuttle for that survey," She looks up at my eyes. "We wouldn’t have been able to return to the shuttle in time."

"But we didn’t break off, Seven." I tell her, as I feel a strange lump forming in my throat at her unfounded guilt. "We stayed *together*."

"But if he had taken the shuttle," She implores at me with her shimmering blue eyes. "If he’d gotten attacked while he was away from us, or if we’d gotten attacked while the shuttle wasn’t close by, one of us or all of us could’ve gotten killed."

"But we *didn’t*, Seven." I raise my voice in desperation, trying to penetrate through this strange haze she’s fallen into. "I *wouldn’t* have let you do that. We stayed *together*. And we’re all right. Tom is going to be all right."

She stares at me for a long moment and then drops her eyes again. I stare at her drooped shoulders, my heart beating furiously in my chest at the sight of her so filled with pain and self-recrimination.

The strange angry conversation I’d had with her, right before the attack, comes back to me---and in this new perspective, it finally occurs to me that I had been wrong to judge her so harshly. She wasn’t trying to be intrusive. This woman who is sitting in the chair in front of me, feeling guilty about things that are not her fault, couldn’t have meant to hurt me. I misunderstood her, criminally so.

"Seven," I call out her name. "I am sorry for how I spoke with you down on the planet."

She looks up at me, her eyes squinting in question.

"When you tried to tell me about how you know about Kellin." I swallow hard. "I was wrong to speak with you like that. Please forgive me."

She stares at me as if she can’t understand what I am saying. "There’s no need to apologize, Commander." She blinks. "It was *my* fault. I should never have violated your privacy like that."

I frown at her. "No, you don’t understand what I am saying, Seven." I sigh impatiently, upset at the fact that she isn’t accepting my words. "I am apologizing to you. You’re not at fault. *I* am."

"You’re wrong, Commander." She straightens her shoulders, a hint of her characteristic stubbornness returning to her posture. "It was my fault. All of it."

"Seven!"

My exasperated cry is drowned out by the computer’s announcement that we’re approaching our destination. I turn around and see Voyager’s welcome appearance looming at us from the viewport.

I glance back at her and notice her eyes on her sensors, her jaw once more set. I want to speak to her, to clarify things, to make her understand that it wasn’t her fault, that she didn’t do anything wrong, but there’s no time right now.

Voyager’s shuttlebay doors are opening. The Captain’s voice is on the comm welcoming us back. Its time to go home.

 

"I must say, Commander Chakotay’s and Seven’s timely intervention and the subsequent emergency treatment of Mister Paris as per my apt instructions helped save his life." The Doctor is speaking to the Captain, as Seven and I stand to one side of his office and listen. "Also if Mister Paris hadn’t gotten back to the sickbay as fast as he did, thanks to the Commander’s astounding flying skills, he wouldn’t have been recovering as nicely as he is right now."

"Agreed." The Captain nods. "How long before he can get back on his feet?"

"Although all traces of the toxic substance have been purged from his system," The Doctor replies. "He went through severe neurological and cardiovascular trauma. All the damage has been repaired but I’d like to keep him under observation for the next twenty four hours."

"Very well." Kathryn agrees. "Thank you, Doctor."

"Well, now that this task is done, I must return to my patient." The EMH says as he picks up a tricorder and walks out of the office, leaving the three of us alone.

Kathryn looks at us. "I’ll wait for you to submit your reports in forty eight hours. You are both off duty until then. I can wait to hear about what the hell happened down there until you’re ready."

I nod at her. "It was a chaotic situation. Out of our control. It will all be in my report."

Janeway shakes her head. "A simple harvesting mission. You never know what you’re going to find out there."

"My data was inadequate." Seven’s spine straightens as she looks at Kathryn. "I should never have suggested we explore this system."

I sigh in aggravation, and am about to tell her how wrong she is when Kathryn beats me to it.

"It wasn’t your decision." The Captain looks straight at Seven. "Your data wasn’t inadequate, it was simply promising, just like all such data that needs exploring. Anything can happen on an away mission, that possibility is always there. If there’s anyone to blame for what happened, its me. I ordered you to go down there."

Seven blinks, not saying anything.

Kathryn continues, her tone softer this time. "You did an exemplary job on this mission, you saved Tom’s life. Do you understand?"

The ex-Drone swallows before squaring her shoulders. "Yes, Captain."

"Go get some rest now." The Captain instructs her. "You’re all exhausted."

Seven nods, her suddenly unreadable eyes shifting to me for a second, before she turns around and walks out of the sickbay.

"What happened, Chakotay?" Kathryn is asking me. "Did Seven have a problem with you down there?"

I look at the Captain, marveling at her keen perceptiveness. "No, of course not." I reply, keeping my voice calm. "She’s just upset that Tom got hurt, that’s all."

Kathryn stares at me a moment and then nods. "Well, if that’s the case then she’ll soon be all right, I am sure."

I nod. "Don’t worry, Kathryn, I’ll speak with her." My eyes shift to stare at the closed sickbay doors. "She’ll be all right." I sigh. "Everything’s going to be all right."

Yes, everything will be fine.

That’s the only thing I am sure of right now. I don’t know how but I just know that somehow I’ll work it out.

Somehow I’ll make her understand.

******


	3. Chapter 3

**Memory, Chapter 3**

 

 

Dreams filling my mind’s eye. Events that unfolded around me in a not so recent past. Memories assailing me, disturbing me, comforting me.

My first look into his mind.

His voice. A soft, soothing hail rising above the cacophony of never-ending noise. Millions of voices speaking together, directing my thoughts, telling me what to do. Yet that one voice drowning all others with it’s enticing, luring, velvet timbre.

Annika. Listen to your human side. To yourself. The little girl.

His voice. Urgent. Urging. Pleading. It’s silken resonating tones washing over my whole being, tingling my nerve endings with a spark I’d never felt before. A spark of vitality and passion. A sea of faces and memories---its frenzied waves rising and crashing against the jagged, craggy rocks of uncertainty---of confusion. But his voice leading me. Guiding me. Calling me.

I can see your memories. You remember being human.

My eyes on the viewscreen on Voyager’s bridge, my human hand grabbing the console at the helm as the injection tubules snake out of the implant on my Borg wrist and penetrate the helm controls. I hear the Collective in my mind.

Alter course to bring the Alpha Quadrant vessel to Unimatrix 368, grid 0015.

His voice. Yielding, tempting. His memories inundating my consciousness, his thoughts entangling the perfection of harmony in my mind. Filling me with confusion, disrupting my order. My voice rising in a wounded roar of denial.

We are Borg. Your appeal to my humanity is pointless.

The cacophony inside my head increasing in its perfect, hideous order. Millions of voices speaking as one. Their presence sharply felt in my mind, in his mind. His voice rising in alarm, rising in fear.

Stop what you're doing. You're human. I can hear your thoughts. We are one.

And then a new vision filling my mind. Events that couldn’t have been a part of my memories because they never occurred. Yet they are images that come unbidden, propelling into my mind, uninvited.

A Borg vessel appearing on the viewscreen. My tubules interacting with Voyager’s systems, disrupting their defenses, dropping their shields. The voice of the Collective speaking as one.

Your technological and biological distinctiveness will be added to our own. Your culture will adapt to service us. Resistance is futile.

Drones transporting all over the ship. Phaser fires all around me. His voice pleading me, cajoling me---even as I hear their screams on every deck, in every mind, in the Collective thought.

Our minds are linked. His voice calls me, filled with anguish. We are one. I can hear your thoughts.

But it’s too late for him. They wrench him down to his knees, his struggles in vain. I watch as his head is yanked back and a drone injects the claws of the tubules into his neck. I hear his pain-filled scream, his eyes clouding with distress---his pain plunging me into a sudden desolate blackness.

And with that suffocating darkness, comes the beginnings of a scream that fills my own tightening throat. However the only sound that comes out is a small gasp of misery, as my eyes finally snap open.

The Interlink Node disconnects from my Alcove and under the sound of my heavy, desperate breathing, I hear the voice of the computer announce.

"Regeneration cycle incomplete."

I stare into the dimmed cargobay two, my heart beating frantically, my breaths coming in gasps, as I try to bring a semblance of order to my bewildered state. It is then that my eyes settle on the figure perched on the cargo containers a step below the platform.

His shoulders as tense as mine, as if he’s shared my thoughts this time as well, as if he knows what I went through under the guise of my regeneration cycle. I stare at him hesitantly, perturbed by his presence, my mind still reeling from the images I’d seen in my dreams.

"Commander." I finally say, as I step off the Alcove, willing my heart to calm its frantic beat.

He slides off the container, a few lines of worry wrinkling the skin between his brows. "Seven."

I access the chronometer. Its 0413 hours.

I look at him, unsure of his reasons for being here at this hour. "You’re up early."

He shrugs, a slightly apologetic twist on his lips. "I couldn’t sleep." His eyes probe mine. "Are you all right?"

It was just a dream, I remind myself. Just a tangle of confusion cooked up by my strained mind, nothing more.

I take a deep breath and step off the platform. "I seem to be suffering from the same predicament as you are."

He looks uncertainly at my profile, looks behind me at the Alcove I’ve just stepped down from, and then slightly frowns. "Aren’t you going to go back to regeneration?"

"Perhaps later." I reply, as I notice his attire---an earthy toned collar-less shirt, seemingly made of a soft material, and loose cream-colored pants---apparently his off-duty clothes of choice.

He nods, and makes a small gesture with his arm. "Then may I…" He pauses as he turns sideways, his eyes on the cargo containers behind him, and shakes his head. "No seating arrangements here."

"This is a cargobay." I look at him. "What purpose would having a seating arrangement serve in a cargobay?"

He seems amused. "Cargobay or not, it is still *your* domain."

I lift my chin. "Borg do not sit." But my words don’t have the same brusqueness as they could’ve had.

And he notices. A slight smile brushes his lips. "Borg who socialize with humans *do* sit."

I look into his eyes, trying to keep my voice cool under his interested gaze. "Are you asking me to socialize with you, Commander?"

He shrugs. "Oh, I don’t know… I *am* asking you to take a walk with me to somewhere with a couple of chairs at least." He hesitates a moment, looking slightly unsure. "If you’re not busy that is."

And it’s in this small show of hesitancy that I find a little assurance for myself. If I am not the only one who is uncertain about facing him, if the Commander is as apprehensive about talking to me as I am to him, then perhaps we’d be on equal grounds.

Pushing the remnants of the strange dream I’d just had to the back of my mind, I take a deep breath and nod. "I am unoccupied at this time. I will take the walk."

He smiles, satisfied, and turns around, leading me out of the cargobay. The corridors are vacant at this hour of the morning, with the gamma crew on shift and the rest of them in their quarters sleeping. We don’t use the turbolift. Instead Commander Chakotay finds an Observation Lounge at the far end of Deck twelve and we walk inside.

It’s a lounge I hadn’t looked closely at before. I was being honest when I told the commander that Borg do not sit. Borg don’t socialize either. And certainly not with former-renegade First Officers of Federation ships stranded in the delta quadrant. But it would appear that times have now changed. And as always I’ll have to find a way to adapt, whether I am ready for it or not.

My gaze travels across the small room furnished with comfortable chairs, cushioned two-seaters, and the few low set glass tables set in front of the two viewport windows, to stop at the man standing next to a seat---looking at me expectantly. I realize he’d been watching me while I was studying my surroundings, lost in my thoughts. I take a breath, step forward to pull out a straight-back chair and carefully sit down, watching him take a chair in front of me.

He leans back in his chair in a relaxed posture and looks at me closely, and I suddenly realize he has lost the slight lines of apprehension that had creased his face earlier. Perhaps the small walk helped him focus, as it did me, in a way.

"So..." He starts, his eyes intent on me, and trails off.

I urge him on. "I am waiting for you to begin."

His brow arches. "Begin what?"

I feel myself frown slightly. "You did bring me here to talk about Kellin, didn’t you?"

There’s a slight pause during which his eyes linger on mine, and then one corner of his mouth twitches. "No, you misunderstood me. I brought you here because I wanted to talk about *you*."

I look at him incredulously. "Me."

"Yes." He straightens up on his seat, his face suddenly turning serious. "How are you doing? Since coming back from the away mission?"

There’s concern in his eyes and although I am not sure why, its strangely comforting to me. It’s been fourteen hours since our return from the planet. Lieutenant Paris is recovering in sickbay. The Commander and I were unhurt and we’ve been off-duty since our return. I don’t understand why he’d be concerned about me now.

"I am fine." I reply.

"Are you sure?" His voice is soft, unexpectedly reminding me of the velvet timbre from my dreams, my memories---distracting me for a moment---before it suddenly occurs to me what he’s attempting to do.

I raise my brow at him. "Is this a counseling session, Commander?"

He smiles gently and shakes his head. "No. Just lending a friendly ear."

Though, for some reason I don’t want to talk about this. I make an attempt at changing the subject. "Are you sure you do not wish to speak about Kellin?"

He stares at me closely, his throat working as his mind apparently processes the information at his disposal. Then as if coming to a decision, he sighs and leans back on his seat, his brow smooth. "All right. Tell me, what *do* you know about Kellin?"

I waver, unsure of his changing tactics. How much *does* he know? How much does he *want* to know? I decide to start at the beginning.

"She was a Rumaran tracer who had come to Voyager looking for a runaway..."

He breaks in. "I know that."

I pause, feeling my brow arching in mild impatience. "The two of you began a romantic relationship..."

He shrugs. "That’s in my accounts too."

I purse my lips, as I feel my impatience expand into slight irritation. Humans have a strangely annoying habit of playing along just for the sake of it. "Her leaving you after her memories were erased caused you a great deal of pain..."

He pauses for a second. "For approximately one day."

My brows wrinkle at his mysterious behavior. "Are you suggesting that you have not been distracted, that you have not been upset, over this subject in the past few days?"

He blinks and then sighs, a smile breaking on his face, as he shakes his head. "Is this a counseling session, Seven?"

I feel my irritation slowly melt away at the sight of his amusement. "No. Perhaps, I too am only lending you a friendly ear."

There’s another pause as he silently appraises me and then the smile disappears. "Seven," His eyes are solemn. "I really *am* sorry about how I spoke to you down on the planet."

I heard the Doctor once tell me that all things in the universe go on in a never-ending circle. I told him it was an illogical supposition. I told him all matter in the galaxy was constantly expanding and not moving in a circle as he’d proposed. I couldn’t have known how right he was, at least in respect to *some* things.

I heave in a deep breath as I face Chakotay. "As I said before, Commander, you have no reason to apologize."

But the commander’s dark eyes are implacable. "You’re wrong. I was out of line. That calls for an apology."

"You want to apologize to *me*?" My voice rises in exasperation. "Even after I almost persuaded you to let Lieutenant Paris take the shuttle---which if he had done so, would have resulted in all of us getting killed?"

He grits his teeth. "One thing has got nothing to do with the other."

"But I was wrong." I almost got us all killed.

"Yes, you *were*." His voice rises in force, his eyes piercing mine as he stares hard at me---his mouth set in a firm line.

I stare at him in a shocked silence, my throat convulsing.

And then his eyes soften, the blazing anger replacing with patient understanding. "But I *didn’t* let you do that. I *wouldn’t* have. I told you that before."

I think back over the events of the away mission, how I’d argued with him there and how he’d firmly denied my request and realize how relieved I am now that he was as immovable with me as he was. The consequences otherwise would’ve been devastating.

I shift mental gears and think of the dream I woke up from a while back. The false dream. Of events that *hadn’t* taken place. The images of Borg attacking Voyager, assimilating the crew---assimilating him. And suddenly a realization hits me. That even during regeneration, the human part of me---or perhaps it is the Borg part after all---was trying to tell me something. Was trying to give me a message.

I close my eyes for a second, take in a deep breath, and then open them---knowing all traces of conflict have left my expression. "You stopped me." I tell him.

His brow smoothes. "Yes, I did. We stayed together. Tom is all right now."

I shake my head. "No, I mean---you stopped me... before too."

His eyes narrow in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

I look into his dark eyes. "When you severed my connection to the Collective," They’re brown, I notice for the first time, an appealing color for eyes---a warm color. "You stopped me from leading the Borg to Voyager. You stopped me from getting Voyager assimilated."

It takes a moment for comprehension to dawn in those eyes, and then he nods slowly, his gaze turning even softer than before. "I spoke to you in your thoughts."

I swallow as I reply. "You were the last person I heard in my mind."

He looks impressed, almost awed by this revelation---as if he’d never considered it before. "Do you still have those memories?"

"You don’t?" I ask him.

He looks at me closely and shrugs as he replies---looking a little dazed. "I guess I do."

"I have them as well." I confirm.

He nods and then the expression on his face changes, his eyes squinting as he tilts his head to one side. "Your regeneration cycle... Is that where your memories of Kellin returned? That is, if I assume you had lost them like the rest of us."

For some reason, I feel relieved at the change of topic and shift my position on the chair. "I had, and yes that’s where they returned approximately eleven days ago."

His brows crinkle as he appraises me. "Why did you take this long to tell me, Seven?" He sounds curious.

I hesitate as I drop my gaze to my lap and then taking a deep breath look up at him. "I was unsure of how to approach you."

He shakes his head, the same amusement again peeking from his eyes. "Seven, you chose a hell of a wrong time to do so."

I sigh, feeling a sudden flush heat the skin of my neck. "I would admit my timing was a little off."

He suddenly smiles as he notices my embarrassment. "And I would say I was just a little... shocked."

I raise my brow at his lighthearted expression. He no longer seems upset and that relieves me even further. "I noticed." I nod. "But then I had already surmised that you would be upset before I spoke to you. I was just..." My voice trails off.

He finishes for me. "Unprepared for that intensity?"

I shrug. "I guess I wasn’t."

A slightly repentant look crosses his face again. "I don’t blame you."

I stare into his eyes, suddenly feeling exhausted---as if I’ve run an ancient marathon race. "How is Lieutenant Paris?" I change the topic again. "I haven’t seen him for a few hours."

He looks at me knowingly, well aware that I am trying to turn the conversation around, his eyes twinkling with comprehension, but lets it go. "Sleeping. I stopped by sickbay on my way to see you. He’s going to be just fine. He’ll be released to his quarters tomorrow."

"It is tomorrow now." I remind him of the early hour again.

"Well, then... A few hours from now, I guess." His lips quirk again. It is disconcerting how suddenly I can notice the color of his eyes and see how many times his lips twist into a smile, when a few weeks back things like these would’ve been the farthest from my mind. My Borg half would certainly disapprove.

But I find that my human part doesn’t mind too much.

"As I remember," I decide to continue on in the same vein. "The Captain ordered you to take time off as well."

His brow arches. "I *am* on my time off. I told you what I do in my off-duty hours should be no one’s concern but mine."

I stare at him in silence once more, my own brow raised in query.

And then he shakes his head again and sighs. "But since you’ve already shown some concern about how I spend my off-duty *time*," A slightly indulgent look crosses his eyes as he regards me. "I decided to spend some of it with you. Do you want to get rid of me?"

I let a small smile appear on the corner of my own lips. "No. I want you to do as the Captain said. Get some rest."

He smiles in return. "I *am* resting."

I lift my chin and state in my no-nonsense voice. "Then get some sleep." He does seem somewhat tired. Spending his off-duty hours sitting with me in the Observation Lounge nine decks down from his quarters won’t help him. The away mission was tiring for him as well.

He straightens his shoulders. "Only if you promise me one thing."

I look at him in question. "What is that?"

He looks me straight in the eye. "That you’ll complete your regeneration."

I return his gaze as I contemplate his request. My cycle earlier had been ridden with unpleasant dreams that concerned this crew, and the man sitting in front of me. Can I confront the same kind of images if they storm inside my mind again?

"Is there something wrong?" The commander is frowning, concern apparent in his expression.

I stare at him a moment and realize my thoughts are much calmer now that I’ve spoken to him. As much as I was dreading facing him, discussing the various aspects of our individual and mutual conflict seems to have helped.

"No." I shake my head. "There was. But not anymore. I believe I can return to my regeneration now."

His dark eyes probe mine. "Sure everything’s okay?"

"Yes." I nod. I *am* sure.

"In that case," He smiles and gets up from his chair. "I’ll walk you back to your *domain*."

 

 

It is strange how life sometimes throws you a curveball and then expects you to go catching even though your hands are already full with other things.

You juggle the items already in your hands as you try to catch the ball. Sometimes you manage to do so. Other times you watch in horror as the ball goes sailing past you in vain. Sometimes you even dump the stuff you were already holding and run for the curveball to make a catch of a lifetime.

I am not sure what I’ve chosen to do so, but I believe my life has thrown me a heck of a curveball as well.

And I think I just barely caught it.

"I thought I told you to wait until you were back on duty before submitting your report." Kathryn looks at me indulgently from behind her desk.

I smile at her. "But you’d known that I couldn’t wait to get it over with. It’s almost all I’ve been thinking about for the past twenty-four hours. And besides, I can always relax after I’ve discussed this with you."

"You have a point." She nods as she gets up from her chair and walks around her desk to the replicator. "I was going through the Doctor’s reports and according to him, the toxin that the creature left in Tom’s body was highly potent. If Tom hadn’t been treated with the antidote in the shuttle, it could’ve affected some of the major organs in his body more severely, maybe even permanently."

She walks back to the desk, places a cup of herbal tea in front of me and settles down in her seat with her coffee.

I look at her grave expression and sigh. "It was a close call. We almost didn’t make it to the shuttle. Those creatures were vicious and extremely fast."

She looks at me closely as she takes a sip from her mug. "But there’s something else on your mind."

I sip the sweetened tea. "I was just thinking of the carcasses we saw there. I saw two different species. Tom’s scans show records of a third and Seven’s one more. That’s four distinctive separate species---all probably killed by the same creatures, beginning at the same timeframe---seven weeks ago."

"And no signs of any other life form." Kathryn muses.

"That’s what’s bothering me." I look down at the padd in front of me and then up at her. "I don’t want to think that those creatures killed all other life forms in that area---or worse, on that whole planet."

"Maybe it’s a mutation of some sort." She offers.

"It could be." I reply. "Think about it, Kathryn. No other living animal in sight. No bird in the air. I’d hate to think that these creatures have evolved out of some other native form of life on that planet and then taken control of the environment, killing their way through all the indigenous life forms."

Kathryn looks at me curiously. "Do you think we should’ve perhaps explored some more?"

"I don’t know how we can explore a planet of this size, especially in the light of all the atmospheric conditions that made even that one shuttle ride such a hassle." I shake my head. "For all we know, we could be looking at this situation entirely wrong. For all we know, this could be a very natural occurrence in that environment that happens in this particular season perhaps---when all the other animals migrate to other climates."

"When I was discussing this with Tuvok and the Doctor," Kathryn says. "They were of the view that there are ways of controlling an unusual bend in the evolutionary process in a known environment. In cases where evolution has come to an abrupt dead end with only one species thriving in an environment where more should be living, we have the option of introducing an agent in the environment. Something to hinder the growth and evolution of that single species so that the other life forms can fight back."

"But that is only valid for a known environment." I look at her. "This environment is completely alien to us. We just spent half a day in that area and yes we *were* attacked. But we could be interfering with what might be the possible natural evolutionary cycle for this world. Maybe that is the way it’s meant to be here."

"So we’re damned if we do," Kathryn lifts one brow. "And we’re damned if we don’t."

I sigh. "When I think about it---we *were* the intruders to their environment. Maybe they were just pissed off that we interfered in their peaceful existence."

She shakes her head. "Well, they surely showed their displeasure in a very profound way."

I nod as I take another sip of the tea. "That they did."

"At least one good thing came off it." She smiles. "We now have a wide variety of fresh vegetables and fruits for the food stores, and seedlings for the hydroponics bay. Neelix is quite appreciative of that fact, even though he’s a little shaken at what it almost cost us."

I shake my head at the thought of what new experiments Neelix will do with our latest harvesting efforts. I lean back in the chair and look at my Captain. "Well, that was my report. I am sure Seven’s report will provide another unique insight that you’ll find helpful."

Kathryn grins at me. "She was *here* two hours before *you*, with her complete report."

I chuckle. "As efficient as always."

It’s funny how the thought of Seven no longer fills me with that slight uneasiness I used to feel in the past. In fact, there’s a lightness in my heart---a strange feeling of pleasant vitality that parts the clouds of gloom that had been covering my horizon for the past few days.

Kellin isn’t even on my mind anymore.

A curveball indeed.

Kathryn looks at me closely, her eyes probing. "She told me of the slight altercation she had with you when she asked for all three of you to be separated on the planet."

I look into my friend’s eyes. "There was no altercation. She and Tom made a suggestion. I refused. That was all."

"But she was blaming herself for almost causing everyone’s deaths." Kathryn prods.

I shrug at her. "Yes, I know, she’s been blaming herself---and I’ll keep telling her it wasn’t her fault until she begins to believe me."

Kathryn seems amused, her eyebrows arching in mock-surprise. "Why, Commander, do I detect a change in your perception of our ex-Drone?"

I can’t help but smile at this. "Perhaps."

She seems genuinely pleased. "That is good, Chakotay. She could learn so much from you---your sense of intuition about everyday things, your compassion."

"I don’t know about her, Kathryn," I look at her. "But she certainly has helped open *my* eyes about things in this short time that I couldn’t clearly see before."

Kathryn smiles. "I am happy to hear that. She’s a strangely complex person, with many difficult layers, but once you get to know her---you do realize she’s worth the effort."

I nod, noticing Kathryn’s eyes quietly observing as she looks at me from behind her coffee mug. "I am beginning to see that. And also---as far as compassion is concerned, I’ve found she has enough of her own---you just have to look hard enough to see it."

Kathryn’s eyes are discerningly penetrative but my thoughts are already drifting. I give her a furtive smile, and notice her slight shake of head as she chuckles.

"You’re a piece of work, Chakotay."

"What?" I stare at her, my brow arching in query. "Have you been spending a lot of time with Tom? He’s the only one who talks like this."

But instead of replying, she shakes her head again. There’s a covert smile on her lips and I feel slightly lost in the wake of her probing gaze.

Piece of work? What could she possibly mean?

I sigh.

Damn curveballs.


	4. Chapter 4

**Memory, Chapter 4**

 

 

"Face it, Har, you guys can *never* beat me---even on my down days." Lieutenant Paris’s joyful voice rises above the usual hustle of the messhall.

I follow my three jubilant companions as they weave their way through the tables and crewmembers in our way, hurrying to secure a large table being vacated on one side of the messhall. Our journey takes longer than it normally should, though, as I watch several people stop the pilot in the middle of the messhall to inquire about his well being since his recent injury on our away mission.

It’s been forty-eight hours since our return from the planet. Lieutenant Paris was released to his quarters yesterday and after resting for one whole day he is now ready to return to duty. Tonight is his night of celebration, as Ensign Kim puts it, to see whether he’s ready to handle the helm from tomorrow’s alpha shift or not.

Evidently bringing him out to play pool was their way of confirming---or perhaps reassuring themselves of---the Lieutenant’s successful return to health.

I watch as finally, with the help of our impatient Chief Engineer and the simply ecstatic Ops Officer, the Lieutenant is extricated from the clutches of his well wishers---exuberant as they are---and we settle down on our table.

Tom Paris smiles blandly at his two friends.

"Oh get over yourself, Fly Boy." B’Elanna Torres snorts disgustedly---an obviously feigned expression---using her occasional nickname for the pilot. "We were just worried you’d strain yourself too hard, so we went *easy* on you."

Lieutenant Paris’s eyes widen in disbelief and he shakes his head in mock-outrage. "Losers shouldn’t insult accomplished pool players like me, B’Elanna."

"Oh please, Tom..." Ensign Kim rolls his eyes. "It wasn’t *that* bad. We’re getting better, you know that."

"Harry..." Lieutenant Paris shakes his head. "You saw how she played. I literally wiped the pool table with her tonight."

My brow raises at Lieutenant Torres’s affronted growl from her seat. "*No one* wipes the pool table with me. The only reason I lost was because you were too weak and I didn’t want to tire you out too much."

"That is incorrect," I interject. "Lieutenant Paris’s hand-to-eye coordination tonight was better than both you and Ensign Kim. He won on his own merit."

Tom Paris turns to me and his smile turns wider. "Oh Seven, I had no idea you *cared*." His eyes twinkle with mischief. "That’s it. I’ve decided---from now on, you’re my new best friend. I don’t like these two anymore. *You* know no one can beat me."

"That’s bullshit, Paris." Torres’ lips pout at him as she gives me an intolerant glare. "You’ve gotten your head too big for your own good. Chakotay can beat you at pool."

"Chakotay?" Tom shakes his head. "You’ve gotta be kidding. He hasn’t beaten me in *ages*. Heck he hasn’t *played* pool in ages. He’s not as fast as I am."

"That is incorrect too," I interject again. "Commander Chakotay’s reflexes are stronger than most people on this ship. His hand-to-eye coordination is excellent. I’ve seen him fight against and *beat* Commander Tuvok in his boxing simulation."

"Seven, boxing is different from playing pool." This time it’s Lieutenant Paris’s turn to pout.

"Not so much different if you take into account the factor of agility versus skill," I reply calmly. "And Commander Chakotay has both---in both the scenarios. He would be a formidable opponent for your level of playing."

"You’ve seen Chakotay *box*?" Lieutenant Torres looks at me incredulously. "He hasn’t shown *me* his boxing program."

I turn my head and look at her, my eyebrow arching at her skepticism. "It was a security drill with Commander Tuvok, two months ago. I was monitoring the various techniques they used, and their effects on their physical propensity."

"Still, he uses my Klingon Calisthenics Program," she mumbles.

"B’Elanna, you whine as much as Tom does." Ensign Kim shakes his head at his two friends.

"Me? Whine?" Tom Paris’s voice rises again. "I am not whining. I am just saying Chakotay can’t beat me so easily..."

"Oh shut up, Paris. You’re a pig," B’Elanna growls again, her mock-affronted mask back in place.

"Who’s a pig?"

I start as I look up to see Commander Chakotay standing next to my chair.

The expression on Lieutenant Paris’s face changes immediately. He smiles widely at the First Officer, his lips quirking impishly. "Uh, hey Commander---have a seat."

"Thanks, Tom." Chakotay smiles at all of us as he slides down in the seat next to me. "So who’s the pig?"

"B’Elanna called Tom a pig." Harry chuckles from his seat next to the pilot.

"Why, B’Elanna, what did he do?"

"He said he could wipe the pool table with you, Chakotay." Lieutenant Torres huffs dramatically, her one brow raised in challenge.

"That’s a total lie!" Lieutenant Paris’s outraged cry rings into our ears. "I never said anything like that. I said I wiped the pool table with B’Elanna in *tonight*’s game, that’s all."

"Why, Tom..." The commander smiles at him. "I thought your memory was better than that. I *have* beaten you at pool many times."

"Are you kidding? I always let you win because you’re my superior officer," Tom drawls.

"Is that right?" I can feel the vibrations of the commander’s mirth emanating from his whole demeanor. He’s truly relaxed tonight. "Oh, but I can’t take advantage of you tonight, Lieutenant," He continues. "You just recovered from your severe injuries. I can’t strain you too much at pool at the moment, you know."

I feel my remaining nervousness disappear as all three of them laugh at the pilot.

"God, am I only going to be insulted tonight?" Lieutenant Paris shakes his head, as he returns the smiles.

"Don’t worry, Commander," Ensign Kim says. "Seven said you could beat the hell out of Tom at pool."

I feel myself flush as I feel the commander’s eyes shift to my profile. "That’s not what she said," I hear Lieutenant Paris complain again. "She said he’d make a "formidable opponent", that’s all."

"Is that true, Seven?" Chakotay’s voice is teasing yet gentle.

I turn my head to look at him. His eyes are sparkling brilliantly, his mouth softened into a still unexpectedly pleasant smile. I feel my breath catch for some unfathomable reason, as I look into his brown eyes, unable to speak for a moment.

"Tom. Commander. Seven." Our reverie is broken by the cheerful squeal from Mr. Neelix. "Look what I’ve got for you."

The Morale Officer walks jubilantly to our table, a serving tray in his hand. "I tried one of those delicious vegetables you brought from your away mission in one of my pie dishes. And its turned out *wonderful*." The Talaxian smiles happily as he places the tray in front of us. "I wish I could stay to see how you like it but I’ve got an alpha shift crew to serve. Please enjoy yourselves. Its absolutely delicious."

With that, he walks away---leaving the five of us in a dubious silence.

"Uh, guys..." Lieutenant Paris is the first one to speak. "Did you hear Neelix say what I think I heard him say?"

"Yeah, Tom." Ensign Kim swallows. "He thinks it’s delicious."

"Oh no." The Lieutenant shakes his head. "Delicious to Neelix normally means heartburn to the rest of us."

"Oh well, his Silkari brown rice from last week wasn’t so bad." B’Elanna sighs.

"Well, it looks like a yellow version of artichokes." Harry offers in reassurance. "It can’t be that bad."

"It looks like one of your collections, Tom." Chakotay grins from my side. "*I* don’t remember harvesting anything like this from there." He picks up the fork lying on the tray and offers it to the pilot. "Why don’t you do the honors?"

Tom looks at the XO suspiciously as he takes the fork from his hand and then squints down at the plate of the yellowish baked vegetable pie. The smell rising from it isn’t that unpleasant and I watch as after taking a deep breath, the pilot scoops up a forkful and takes it into his mouth.

Four sets of eyes watch as Lieutenant Paris chews the mouthful of the dish our cook has prepared from the vegetable sample the pilot himself harvested, watch as the expression on his face changes from mild curiosity to slight discomfort to abject horror, watch as he spits out the forkful he had taken inside his mouth---his mouth grimacing in absolute disgust.

"No, no, no...’ He moans into his napkin, as I hand him a glass of water. "I can’t *believe* this." He groans in disdain as he chokes down half the glass in one go.

Curious, B’Elanna tastes a spoonful from the pie and her reaction is the same. "P’Takh," She heaves a sigh of disgust. "It tastes *just* like Leola Root."

I hear the commander chuckling at my side as the pilot huffs in outrage. "I can’t believe I almost got *killed* for this."

"Just your luck, Tom, huh?" Ensign Kim grins at his friend. "You had to go find a Leola version of Artichokes from the planet of hell."

"Who knows, Lieutenant," Chakotay says. "Those Leola-Root lookalikes you threw away down there---could’ve tasted like Mushrooms."

"I hate this." Paris sighs.

"Don’t worry, Tom," The commander reassures him. "There are plenty of other things that we got from there. I am sure there will be some stuff more to our liking. I’d hate to think everything we harvested tastes like Leola Root."

"It doesn’t." I look at the commander, and then at the Lieutenant. "Everything *I* harvested on the planet, after I’d assessed its viability and before I’d labeled and stored it in the containers, I tasted it as well to make sure it was adequate. Nothing you will find from my collection would be repulsive to eat."

"Seven, I told you---you were the *best*, didn’t I?" The smile is back on Lieutenant Paris’s face. Lieutenant Torres and Ensign Kim too regard me warmly---but it’s the sense of appreciation I feel coming from the Commander that sends a strange quiver of gladness inside my heart.

"Good work, Seven," he says.

But before I can respond to him, I am commed.

"Doctor to Seven of Nine. Your weekly examination is due in ten minutes. This is just a reminder."

I sigh as I hear B’Elanna Torres and Harry Kim groan at the Doctor’s voice, their subject of discussion shifting from horrifying food to horrifying medical practices at the hands of the sadistic EMH. I make a mental attempt to tune out their conversations. Unlike them, I have to face the Doctor on a much regular basis---something my Human/Borg physiology requires more persistently than they can ever realize.

I don’t need to hear their worst case medical scenarios---no matter how harmless their intentions.

"You should go," Chakotay whispers next to me, his voice soothing as always.

I look at him. His eyes are soft and understanding, his face calm and his smile reassuring, as he looks into my eyes. I feel someone else’s eyes on me too and turn my head to find myself looking into Lieutenant Paris’s puzzled blue eyes. I watch as he looks at me, looks at the commander looking at me, and then shifts his probing gaze back to me again---while his two friends stay oblivious, still busy with their sadistic-EMH-complaining. And then, I stare as a smile grows on the Lieutenant’s face, widening as something that looks like understanding dawns on his face.

"I must leave," I announce breathlessly, feeling the Commander’s eyes still on my frame, disconcerted by the various reactions I’ve received in the last few moments. "Doctor’s orders."

"See you later," Chakotay says.

I nod at him as I stand up---my eyes lingering on his face for a moment---nod at Lieutenant Paris---the expression on his face oddly amused---acknowledge Torres and Kim’s good-byes and turning around, walk out of the messhall.

Just for a moment, though, as I reach the exit, I feel myself shiver as the heat of Chakotay’s gaze lingers on my back---its comforting warmth infusing my whole body.

And then the messhall doors close behind me.

 

 

I run my palms across the soft lush blades at my sides and feel the cool slippery texture tickle my skin. So green, so luxuriantly fragrant the grass is---I take in a deep joyous breath of the cool morning air and for a moment, almost imagine myself in the real desert.

I realize, though, that a holodeck simulation is the only place in the delta quadrant where I can get a taste of that beloved, sorely missed, sunrise.

The imagery is almost nearly perfect.

A sea of sand for as far as the eye can see---chilling cold in the night, yet hot and sultry in the day. And somewhere in the middle of these sandy dunes, this small patch of greenery filled with tall leafy palms swaying to the nearly hushed murmur of the cool spring spraying out of the fractured earth. At this hour, everything around me is almost perfectly silent and still---as if waiting for life to languidly arise out of its deep slumber.

I look closely at the dark horizon and can almost make out the beginnings of the new day arriving. That hesitant bluish tint of daylight slowly making itself visible against the thick black curtain of night. I hear the distant call of a bird chirping and feel a smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

Yes. It took me years to get this simulation this far---adding little details that come back to me every time I work on the programming. Even though, I am thrilled with the work I’ve done on this, I might finally have come as close as I am ever going to get to the real thing. I’ve never shared this with anyone before, but that is going to change now.

I hear the holodeck doors open and close somewhere behind me and after a moment hear a hesitant voice call out.

"Commander?"

"Over here, Seven." I call her.

It takes her a moment, and then she walks out from behind the grove of palms, and out into the open air. I look up at her.

"Hello," I greet her.

She nods. "It is dark."

I smile. "Yes. But its soon going to be light." I pat the spot next to me. "Have a seat."

She looks at me doubtfully; her brow raised in puzzlement, but complies. With an elegant grace she’s probably unaware of possessing, she folds her long body into a sitting position and settles down on the patch of grass by my side.

A few seconds tick by in silence as we hear the steadily growing chirps of crickets and the other insects dwelling in the bushes and sands around us. Then she shifts on the grass.

"What are we doing here?" She looks at me.

I turn to her and give her a smile. "Waiting for an Arizona sunrise."

She looks at me dubiously. "A sunrise."

"Yes." I sigh. "Just wait and see. It’s going to be beautiful."

There’s silence for a moment as she ponders over my words, her blue eyes thoughtful, and then she looks at me again. "You miss Earth."

I nod. "I do. Even though I wasn’t born there, I spent a long time there after I joined the Academy. Arizona was always one of my most favorite places to visit. I loved the desert heat."

"It is cold right now," she observes.

"Yes, it is." I agree, feeling the cool morning chill delightfully make its way through my soft cotton shirt and slacks, and push my light sandals off. I rub the soles of my feet on the cool springy grass. "But it’s pleasant," I tell her.

Seven observes my bare feet for a long moment, and just when I start to think that perhaps I’ve made a mistake by taking the sandals off, she reaches down with her hands and one after the other, pulls off her own high-heeled shoes as well. Almost unresistingly, my eyes linger on her feet---they’re exquisitely formed, her toes beautifully aligned in almost a straight line, the heels of her feet arching in a long graceful curve, all covered in soft pale skin.

The sight of her sitting, barefoot, on a slope of cool dewy grass in my holodeck program, in her formfitting regenerative outfit, fills me with a strange wild giddiness---for never before had I ever imagined such a sight in my dreams. I look up into her startled eyes and find her looking at me staring at her feet, and suddenly my mouth is dry. Her eyes widen at whatever she sees on my face.

Spirits, what the hell is happening to me?

Another bird calls out in the chilling air, and I look up to the sky. The daylight is breaking. The sun is coming out.

"Look," I tell her, pointing to the sky.

She follows my gaze.

It’s like a swirling moving fountain of colors---darkness and light blending together to form a beautiful, unexplainably wonderful canvas of life. Brightness replacing the unyielding gloom of the night. The fluffy white clouds slowly becoming visible in the awakening day and from behind them comes our first glimpse of the bright, vitalizing, endlessly alive sun.

The sounds of the birds chirping is like an old melody I’d been nostalgic for a long time. The sun’s yellow rays make the whole landscape glitter like sprinkled gold dusted along the dunes and the light breeze makes the palms behind us rustle to their own private rhythm.

I let the whole scene sink into me, feelings the brightness of the day and the song of the birds fill me with a new sense of vigor.

Finally, I turn to her. "Well, what do you think?"

She takes a moment to gather her thoughts, her eyes still on the vista in front of us, and then she takes a breath and looks at me. "It is impressive."

I smile. "I’d hoped you’d enjoy it."

"I did." She lets a small smile show on her lips and then asks. "Did you program this simulation?"

"Yes," I nod, as I push myself up on one hand and stand up. "It’s never going to be as authentic as the *real* thing but I’ve tried to get *as* close as I could."

She follows my lead and stands up as well. "You’ve done well. It’s a soothing environment."

I watch as she approaches the grove of palms and turns around, her eyes lingering on the bubbling spring and the greenery. "A fertile area in the middle of a desert."

I smile. "An oasis. An island of life and hope in the midst of desolate barren dunes of sand."

She looks at me closely. "Hope. Do you always look for the bright side even when all apparent options that might lead to a favorable conclusion are gone?"

"No." I shake my head, my eyes looking into hers. "Sometimes I learn the hard way as well. Sometimes I can be the most hardheaded person you’ll ever find. But experience has taught me that you should *always* look for the bright side---always keep an open mind. For when you do that---hope finds you itself."

"Isn’t that an excessively optimistic approach, Commander?" There’s a slight quirk to her lips.

"Oh." I stare deep into her eyes, my own eyes soft. "But I *thrive* on optimism, Seven."

"I am beginning to see that." She returns my gaze, her eyes twinkling. With a nod and a slight smile on her lips, she moves out to stand at the edge of the greenery, next to a tall palm tree. The sun is peeking from behind the clouds, still not completely out but somehow brighter now---its rays washing everything in its luminescent brilliance. I look over the view, my eyes travelling over the dry terrain, watching as a flock of birds flies towards some distant abode, and then my gaze rests on my companion.

Her face turned towards the sparkling spring in the middle of the oasis, her fingers play with a drooping leaf of the palm, as my eyes travel from her bare feet up to her graceful, arching profile, to rest on her golden mane. The sunlight lingers in her hair, making them sparkle under the shade of the palm, turning them alive all of a sudden---their suddenly overwhelming luster turning my mouth dry again.

She notices my eyes on her and turns her face to look at me, and we’re caught in each other’s gazes---her eyes a beautiful, shimmering hue of blue unlike any I’d ever seen before. My heart filling with that same wild giddiness, I find myself walking to her in a daze---suddenly seized by the desire to sink my fingers into her hair.

She looks at me, her eyes wide, as I reach her side---that same now-familiar flush heating her beautiful face.

"May I?" I ask her, my voice suddenly hoarse, as my hand reaches up to touch the line of her hair pulled back from her face.

She nods, her throat convulsing, her breathing uneven.

My fingers slowly map the terrain with their pads as I stroke her bound hair with that one hand, until they reach the pin that clasps her hair into that bun. With a gentle tug, I pull it out and her hair loosens, falling into beautiful wavy strands around her face. I feel my breath catch in my throat as the sunrays fall on her silky tresses, making them glitter like threads made of gold---turning her exquisitely beautiful to me.

My heart hammering loudly in my ears, my fingers running through her golden hair, I gently pull her close, lower my mouth and press my lips to hers. I feel her stiffen against me for a second and then my hand is travelling down to the middle of her back, tenderly rubbing away her fears, my fingers gentle in their touch---and with a soft sigh, she comes closer, her own trembling hands coming around my shoulders. As I trace her soft lips with mine, I feel the heated vibrations of her moan reverberating against my skin, her taste infinitely sweet against my mouth, and with a sigh I let her mouth go, leaning back to look at her face.

Her eyes are closed, her face burning with that beautiful crimson shade, as her breaths come out of her parted lips in small panting gasps---the stunning sight of her making my heart thud against my ribcage. And then she opens her eyes and I am lost in the depths of her soul. I cradle her heated face in my palms, my fingers rubbing her flaming cheeks, as her hands tighten around my shoulders.

"A piece of work indeed," I whisper, my eyes glazed, as a sudden smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.

A small frown appears between her brows. "Explain." She looks confused.

So I lower my lips to claim her mouth once more, my smile widening against her pliant mouth. This time, her lips part against mine and I hear myself moan as I finally taste the sweetness of her mouth, my tongue plunging inside to drink at her lush tang. Her hands are moving down my back now, her lips moving against mine, urgent in their need, and I press her closer to me, my hands moving in her hair, threading through the silky strands and my mouth slants against hers to kiss her harder.

As we hold each other close under the shade of the palm tree, her strong slender body pressing against mine, her arms tighten around me and I feel a lightness invade my heart.

That yawning gap in my thoughts, that fissure that had felt as if it had shattered my soul only a few days back, no longer exists. In its place, is a sweet tenderness---that I had never thought I'd find again.

There's hope after all in the midst of all desolation.

My reason is found again.

 

**THE END**


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